And now, Sir Rowland," he continued, turning to the knight, "to our own concerns. These petals! I’ve been wanting to cry all the evening, cry here on your shoulder for my petals. Teacher. One realized indeed then where the differences lay; the tender curves about Anna’s mouth transformed into hard sharp lines in Annabel’s, the eyes of one, truthful and frank, the other’s more beautiful but with less expression—windows lit with dazzling light, but through which one saw—nothing. The more haste, the worse speed—better the feet slip than the tongue.
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