“You are mine, Annabel, and nothing shall ever make me give you up. It’s odd how little I know of him, and of how he feels and what he feels. She thought of him as always courteous and helpful, as realizing, indeed, his ideal of protection and service, as chivalrously leaving her free to live her own life, rejoicing with an infinite generosity in every detail of her irresponsive being. They thought that she was her own mother. She was young and bright, little to no make-up except for lip-gloss, long, straight, glossy reddish blonde hair slightly past her shoulders.
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