Baptist Kettleby (for so was the Master named) was a "goodly portly man, and a corpulent," whose fair round paunch bespoke the affection he entertained for good liquor and good living. Upon my word, Anna,” she declared, with a strange little laugh, “you are a thousand times more like me as I was two months ago than I am myself. “Annabel?” he exclaimed. It was in another world from that in which men will die for a kiss, and touching hands lights fires that burn up lives—the world of romance, the world of passionately beautiful things. “If she is borrowing money,” said Miss Stanley, “she MUST be getting into debt. From then until four in the afternoon there was nothing to do—the whole island went to sleep.
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