It was a serene and charming evening, and twilight was gently stealing over the face of the country. She clasped her hands over her mouth in a silent scream. There was—a service. You can trust me, Anna. She had in her suitcase a small scrapbook, only a few pages, what little information she had gathered on him through the years. Don’t think it was anything better than fever—or a bit beautiful. The candle was shaking in his hand as Ruth appeared in the doorway. ’ ‘That wasn’t my fault.
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