"Mr. He might call her wife, but she refused to give him his wedding night. She’s obsessed with him, you know, totally obsessed. He allowed his irons and clothes to be taken off without resistance. ” Annabel had been lying curled up on the lounge, the personification of graceful animal ease. ‘How in God’s name did the wretched fellow get in then?’ ‘Dug a tunnel?’ suggested Gerald, halting next to a pair of French windows at the front.
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