He was not particularly grateful for the present situation. ’ The lady uttered a scornful sound. It was Annabel who caught at the paper. Her girl Clarice was next, dying within a single day, blood leaking from her pretty brown eyes like an image of the Blessed Virgin. ‘Yes, like you,’ she snapped, with a venomous glance, her role evidently forgotten for the moment. She meditated long and carefully upon her letter to her father before she wrote it, and gravely and deliberately again before she despatched it.
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