After several vain attempts to burst it open, he resolved, as a last alternative, to break through the wall in the part nearest to the lock. The theme was a masquerade. Miss Annabel is her sister. “What is the good of pretending?” she said. Her mouth lolled open and drool seeped down one corner. Women are hypocrites to the last—true only to themselves. Promise me that you will not disobey the injunctions of her whose memory we must both of us ever revere.
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