“You are mine, Annabel, and nothing shall ever make me give you up. I wasn’t. She found the silence comforting, as old people often do. You did not complain then that I personated you—no, nor when Sir John came to me in Paris, and for your sake I lied. She may have any number of wasting diseases, but they cannot survive in our bodies. “Annabel! Why, what on earth have you been doing to yourself, child?” she exclaimed. He’s been near it once or twice already. “I hope nothing is wrong.
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