“Of course, one lives differently in Paris, but then—Paris is Paris. ” Annabel laughed softly. 32 The curtains and tapestries had appeared over the windows before Marina had died, growing moldy from the dampness and the oils of lavender, clove, and clary sage soaking them. "What do you want with me?" "A word in private," replied the other. ‘Certainly this is true,’ she managed.
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