Sir John heard gossip about us—about Anna the recluse, a paragon of virtue, and Annabel alias ‘Alcide’ a dancer at the cafés chantants, and concerning whom there were many stories which were false, and a few—which were true. The young ladies in the somewhat mixed society amongst which he moved neither satisfied his taste nor appealed in any way to his affections. The ink, contained in a grimy bottle unearthed in the outhouse, was old, and made blotches as soon as it touched the paper. I struck him across the face, jumped out and went back by train to Paris. She would be haunted by the visions of their mad faces in her dreams for the next hundred years. There was an air of repressed gaiety in her actions: the sense of freedom had returned; her heart was empty again. There was now a girl in the picture, so it seemed. The voice of the young seaman came floating down from the masthead, and the story of the immortal lovers had begun.
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