You’re all such good cooks. That a longing of hers should be realized in this strange fashion was difficult to believe: it vaguely suggested something of a trap. Now, it won't do a bit of good to warn Spurlock. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. ” Annabel laughed derisively and took up her book.
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