” She glared at Sebastian over the drawing table where she was sketching in chalk, then over at the fifteen year old boy who was asleep in a disheveled pile of rushes in the corner. I should have thought my note cleared up everything. —Providence, I mean—HAS arranged it so that men will keep you, more or less. ” “Yeah, I think she hates you, hon. You are infatuated. And this great mellow place, this London, now was hers, to struggle with, to go where she pleased in, to overcome and live in. Nothing is wrong that you do. ” Annabel no longer attempted to conceal her emotion.
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