Her eyes filled as she thought of him, the image of his laughing countenance coming into her mind, to be swiftly followed by a vision of the blood running from his cut hand. She slid her cheek down the tweed sleeve of his coat. "I shall want a bottle or two of sack, and a flask of usquebaugh. ” “He probably does not know of the relationship,” Annabel remarked. ‘And I suppose I shall be obliged to endure another nonsensical tale about your husband.
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