“Did you—did you really think that they would take you for a Frenchman?” she exclaimed. ” Annabel looked down. The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights. It is the bottom of the cup, where all the dregs appear to settle. Her complexion had resisted the snow-glare wonderfully; her skin had only deepened its natural warmth a little under the Alpine sun.
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