” Annabel sank suddenly into a chair. If you know her for the vicious, scheming wretch that she is, why in God’s name—?’ ‘She’s not a vicious, scheming wretch,’ Gerald said calmly. ” “Your ideas of fairness—” he remarked, and discontinued that sentence. Brown or Jones, I dare say. Blotted out—Love! With infinite care, through nearly a thousand pages, her father had obliterated the word Love.
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