She was glad when he went on: “I want to be your city of refuge from every sort of bother. ‘Do you tell me that my disreputable son had the infernal insolence to pass you off as that whoring Frenchwoman’s daughter?’ His answer was in their faces. He tugged at the overly large hooded sweatshirt, which she unzipped and let fall to the ground. Lots of us are like that. He drew her closer. “Listen, Annabel,” he said hoarsely.
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