It was rigged up for the occasion as it has been many a time before. She leaned a little towards him. There was an air of repressed gaiety in her actions: the sense of freedom had returned; her heart was empty again. βIs this true, Annabel? Is he dead?β She nodded. β She eyed him. β He strode to the fireplace behind the leather-topped desk and addressed his own reflection in the mirror, wagging an admonitory finger in his own face.
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