“What is an Oracle, Sebastian?” “I’ve told you a dozen times. Annabel a murderess! It was not possible. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. Daughters were not like sons. She could hardly remember his face except for his brown hair, thick lips, and narrow dark eyes.
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