“Who are you—Annabel Pellissier or her ghost?” Anna laughed. Ann Veronica sat down in the other arm-chair and darned badly for a minute or so. She untucked his starched shirt, running her hands along his smooth torso and underneath his arms. And she seemed always to keep one eye on Ann Veronica’s dress. Ennison with my sister last night. “You are too good for me,” she said in a low voice.
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