She would rend him limb from limb like a fiend if only she could move. It seemed as if each time her imagination reached out investingly, an invisible lash beat it back. “God in Heaven, Annabel!” he cried. She shook her head, almost breaking a smile. He was wrapped in a laced roquelaure, which he threw off on his entrance into the room. Her gaze flickered down to his pistol.
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