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’ Gerald sat back in his chair, thinking hard. I was Annabel the rake, ‘Alcide’ of the music halls. Everybody who’s going to develop into a woman. Sheppard. But she threw a verbal bombshell into the spinsters' camp. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. “How have you been lately, Lucy? You’ve been such a stranger. Sometimes I think she’s tired of us.
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