“Is this true, Annabel? Is he dead?” She nodded. She went about, intentlooking and self-possessed, trim and fine, concealing her emotions whatever they were, as the realities of her position opened out before her. I have been in torment all the while to know whether it was to Anna or to Annabel that you were making love so charmingly. “Lucy, have you noticed that I don’t even own a dog?” He spoke into her hair. The spy—if there was one hiding out in the late Jarvis Remenham’s empty house—would be taken unawares.
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