Daughters were in the air that day. The dizziness made the trees sickening, the smell of Michelle’s perfume soapy and revolting. Montague Hill?” Annabel put her hand suddenly to her throat and steadied herself with the back of a chair. "No!" she cried. Her figure, though slight, had all the fulness of health; and her complexion—still pale, but without its former sickly cast,—contrasted agreeably, by its extreme fairness, with the dark brows and darker lashes that shaded eyes which, if they had lost some of their original brilliancy, had gained infinitely more in the soft and chastened lustre that replaced it.
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