She was with these movements—akin to them, she felt it at times intensely—and yet something eluded her. Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. And probably the girl would wear herself out, too. “Are you cold?” He asked her, cocking his head to one side like a puppy, so close that the heat of his words warmed her cheek. There would be no mercy in this man. Perhaps you will explain the state of panic into which I seem to have thrown you. Is it so, Annabel?” “I did not know,” she faltered, “anything about you.
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