“Annabel;” he moaned. ’ Kimble nodded. ‘I’ve never found a woman who did not drive me into a frenzy of boredom. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. She crouched beneath a stump, her extremities twitching as the sun set orange and blue beyond the lace of iron-black trees. " "You shall be treated according to your deserts, then," said Jonathan, maliciously.
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