“I saw you in a sort of sloping, slippery place, holding on by your hands and slipping. “Annabel, I begin to see why you are here. ” Marina would drawl, Lucy invoking her mother’s face as the image of the beautiful but cruel princess Anoush. The sound of their strident voices floated upwards, the high nasal note of the predominant Americans, the shrill laughter of girls quick to appreciate the wit of such of their male companions as thought it worth while to be amusing. .
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