He looked at Annabel, whose face was buried in her hands— he looked back at Anna, who was regarding him with an easy composure which secretly irritated him. “Forgive me,” he said. He hated horizons. You’re a piss-poor liar, John. The terror faded from her eyes. "A hundred dollars which was left from your husband's money. Her face reminded him of a delicate unglazed porcelain cup, filled with blond wine. ’ ‘Indeed, I’m beginning to think so,’ he said ruefully. For a few days she was fascinated by the place, exploring the moldy rooms, the weird treasures hiding in forgotten trousseaus.
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