Sometimes I tremble, Anna, to think how near I came to passing through life without a single glimpse, a moment’s revelation of this greatest and most awful of mysteries, the mystery of primaeval nature. “You must answer me, Annabel,” she continued. ‘What the devil for?’ ‘Messenger,’ Gerald explained. The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. It's a bad omen to be thrown near that door.
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