"Sit down, fool!" "Jack," said Kneebone, who had been considerably interested by the foregoing scene, "are these regrets for your past life sincere?" "Suppose them so," rejoined Jack, "what then?" "Nothing—nothing," stammered Kneebone, his prudence getting the better of his sympathy. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. She had not chosen her life, but she was foggy on whether or not it was right to deny others the right to join her in her suffering.
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