If ever she felt fatigue in these long tramps which had already taken her half over London, she never admitted it. Not so bad. She wanted to kiss his feet. He was Julian five years younger, the spitting image. She had to think of something fast, or her reaction would start to make believers out of everyone. “You are mine, Annabel, and nothing shall ever make me give you up. Frequently she would doze in her chair; but the slightest movement on the bed aroused her.
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