Anna followed her finger, and looked back into her sister’s face. "Raise your vice, and lave off coughin'," added Terence. 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 road which wound by Westbourne Green, gave him a full view of the hill of Hampstead with its church, its crest of houses, and its villas peeping from out the trees. " "There isn't an angel in heaven, Ruth, purer or sweeter than you are.
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