‘This was a picture of Mary Remenham that I have found today. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. But heavens, I must pack!” She sprang to her feet and disappeared in the room beyond, from which she emerged a few minutes later with flushed cheeks and dishevelled hair. Pierre. The last thing that she remembered was her eyes crossing as she tried to focus upon the crunch of leaves as she lay heaving upon them, dampening them further with the outpouring of her sweat as it leaked from her clothing. ’ He laughed.
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