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Courtlaw found himself ushered without questions into Annabel’s long low
drawing-room, fragrant with flowers and somewhat to his surprise, crowded with
guests. “You can’t imagine,” he said, “what a beastly thing a furtive love affair can
be. Pottiswick had mentioned muttering. “Put her in the trunk. What matters it? My servant, he is wounded—and by a
Frenchman, if you wish to make an arrest. So you are Prudence
Remenham. What would happen to her? Would her soul be shaken, twisted,
hypnotized?—as it had been those other times? Music—that took out of her the
sense of reality, whirled her into the clouds, that gave to her will the directless
energy of a chip of wood on stormy waters.
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This video was uploaded to flood-rescue.com on 14-07-2024 07:57:09