After the first violent outbreak of grief had in some degree subsided, Thames addressed him. “Who are you—Annabel Pellissier or her ghost?” Anna laughed. Thames returned no answer. Lucy heard a stir, but if Dawn Plote were to arise and come into the room, it could only mean two murders tonight. They do not come for me, to find me and bring me home. “Thank you,” she said coolly. Leastways, not on your own.
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