Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. Annabel! Annabel!” His voice became a shriek. . Nevertheless, she could not prevent a rising excitement as the dawn of the new life drew near to her—a thrilling of the nerves, a secret and delicious exaltation above the common circumstances of existence. Her mind went on generalizing. And, in spite of the boy's resistance, he plunged his hands into his pockets, and drew forth the miniature.
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