While he was meditating flight in this way, and tossing about on the straw, he chanced upon an old broken and rusty fork. He turned the wheel carefully as he touched her neck with the other, threading her soft curls in between his slim fingers. It was Annabel’s. The fanatic has no such word in his vocabulary. “I can’t imagine it,” said Miss Miniver. ” Anna glanced momentarily towards her sister, but Annabel neither spoke nor moved.
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