She patted John's head with her palm, its surface appealingly fuzzy. What else could one say? I left him to suppose—a registry perhaps. Darrell attempted to reply. But she disapproved more and more of her own mental austerity. White’s compliments. Perhaps he truly meant it – perhaps there was a force within him that could withstand the hardships of existing past a mortal lifetime. I was Annabel the rake, ‘Alcide’ of the music halls.
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