"Woman, your wits are fled!" And so it seemed; for all the answer she could make was to murmur distractedly, "I can't find the key. He’d borne mention of the woman’s name. That last year in Paris, when Annabel and she had lived in different worlds, had often been a nightmare to her. At the Palazzo she had been confined to her own sunny windowed quarters most of the time, but she had the entire run of the inside of the manor. "I can do without it," muttered Jack. Thank him, not me, man.
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