“I thought that I heard a groan,” Anna whispered. Promise me one thing before I leave you. But if you do not leave this room I must. The militiaman at once thrust the old man between the shoulder blades, pushing him into the kitchen. Anna leaned forward, watching the people in the streets. Only au revoir. The walls were pristine white and unmarked except for two sconces and a rather colorless Monet poster that had been framed in an expensive oak surround.
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