She would be in the library, her favorite place, or on the bench by the colored glass window with her embroidery. ” Annabel leaned back in her chair and laughed till the tears stood in her eyes. Were you born here, madame?’ ‘Mais non. " With no little effort—for the right words had a way of tumbling back out of reach—he marshalled his phrases, and as he uttered them, closed his eyes to lessen the possibility of a break. ‘Are you going to come quietly, mademoiselle?’ he demanded with grim determination.
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