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A lean young man in spectacles pursued her for some time, crying “Courage! Courage!” Somebody threw a dab of mud at her, and some of it got down her neck. “Annabel at last,” he shouted. There is so little abandon, so little real joyousness. . Only you seem to me since the time when I knew you in Paris to have changed—to have changed in some subtle manner which I find at times utterly bewildering. He became ugly and monstrous, dunning her, threatening her, assailing her.
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