“It is an annoyance, my friend,” she said, “not a tragedy. “I won’t pretend,” he said, “that this is an accident. ” “Then why,” Anna asked quietly, “do you run away? It is not like you. “You are mine, Annabel, and nothing shall ever make me give you up. Their soft, voluptuous bodies wove among each other to the faint notes of a lyre.
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