The gardens were tidy and geometric, each avenue with a different purpose: flowers for cutting, herbs, brightly colored vegetables. ‘You don’t favour her, bar the black hair. I don’t care if you’re not a virgin, that’s not how I really am. Unconscious that his movements were watched, Shotbolt, meanwhile, hastened towards Wych Street. Anna sat with the face of a Sphinx— waiting. It may not be just, it may not be fair, but things are so.
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