" In less time than Hobson had mentioned, the carriage was announced. Yet she held her tongue. Annabel lounged in her chair with a sort of insolent abandon in her pose, and wide-open eyes which never flinched or drooped. “I killed him. . Once she stopped in front of a mirror and looked at herself thoughtfully. For the sort of love-making you think about. She could feel her body rebel against her actions, convulsing, so she forced herself to think of her mother in Heaven, her mother's beautiful face, the sun dancing across the rivers of her home. But now it’s beads by the cask—like the hold of a West African trader.
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