“Who are you—Annabel Pellissier or her ghost?” Anna laughed. An ancient smile lay on his lips. Hill lost a little of his truculency. "My little fancy man's quite as fond of me as of you, Bess. Once she reached the bamboo curtain, clutched at it and tore it down as his arms went around her waist. "It's a miserable weakness to be afraid of bloodshed.
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