Courtlaw found himself ushered without questions into Annabel’s long low drawing-room, fragrant with flowers and somewhat to his surprise, crowded with guests. ‘You’re not going to kill me this time. ’ ‘Because I was a servant in the vicomte’s house? Things have changed. And they could talk, they found; and never once, it seemed, did their meaning and intention hitch. “Yes,” she answered, looking away. This hand consigned him to destruction, but another was stretched forth to save him.
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