They talked lightly but confidentially until Sir John approached them with a slight frown upon his face. “Perhaps that is only sleeping,” he said. Annabel, I was lying. She longed to own something lasting, anything, but knew her wishes to be stupid. "Tell me the truth, I implore you," cried Thames. But she was not there. She was standing before a window, against the background of the rain-burdened April sky.
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