His gaze dropped to the black garment that covered her. She had begun to care about her appearance again, looking into the glass he gave her, a thing nearly priceless that was bordered in intricate golden filigree and rubies. “Hainault was Celeste’s friend, and Celeste was Annabel’s enemy,” Courtlaw said. That her husband was not touching her anymore grew to be like a disease, something to be cured. “You don’t know him, Anna,” she said with a little shudder, “or you would not talk like that.
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