Enter the house with your men. The flicker of an eyelash might betray his presence. “Who are you—Annabel Pellissier or her ghost?” Anna laughed. The smells of skewered fennel, roast chicken, and broiled pheasant saturated the air, and she could smell other wonderful aromas about them. When Sheila was in a bad mood, she berated her new foster daughter for streaks on the windows, dust on the figurines, for crooked bed sheet corners, and floors that had not been waxed properly.
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