Distress like hers might palliate far greater offences than she ever committed. “Because I hate you!” She spat. ” Annabel laughed derisively and took up her book. Have the goodness to affix your name to that memorandum, Sir Rowland. It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade.
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