Already she missed all of her fine things, her linens and leather bound books. Sheppard, and neither deserve nor desire your thanks. Annabel was conscious then of the slow anger which had been burning within her since the night of her visit to the “Unusual. I said I knew he disliked and distrusted you and your work—that you shared all Russell’s opinions: he hates Russell beyond measure—and that we couldn’t possibly face a conventional marriage. Wood, disdainfully. That blow made me a thief.
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