That last year in Paris, when Annabel and she had lived in different worlds, had often been a nightmare to her. Annabel half filled her glass with wine, and taking a little folded packet from her plate, shook the contents into it. There was a tearing sound as the canvas gave way, and the precious portrait ripped apart as the top of the Frenchman’s head came through it. ” He was still conscious when they reached the hospital and his state was much more favourable. S.
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