” “Where is your husband?” Anna asked. Not MY affair. She caught her breath, and her eyes were lit with a sudden terror. "Well, Lady Trafford," he said, fixing a severe look upon her. She kept him talking all the way to the doorstep of the Beck's home, a small 1970s brown split-level in the old part of town. "The glass never sinks in that way, d'ye see, without a hurricane follerin', I've knowed it often do so in the West Injees. . She turned away from the doorway of the silk loom to observe.
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