She was, she guessed, close to the library. I would not have him know—now—for the world. After all, it was what she had been praying for—and Annabel could not have known her address. The knots and broken pale that made the garden-fence scalable, and gave access to the fields behind, were still to be traced. At the door through which she had entered the room stood the so-called Monsieur Valade. ‘And I do understand.
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