The true creative mind is always returning to battle; defeats are only temporary setbacks. Opposite to her was a sallow-visaged young man, whose small tie seemed like a smudge of obtusively shiny black across the front of a high close-drawn collar. A few feet away, across the low vases of pink and white roses, sat Annabel, more beautiful to-night perhaps than ever before in her life. It was horrible, but what could she do? She meant to live her own life, and he meant, with contempt and insults, to prevent her.
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