She stood among them, watching them and feeling curiously alien to them. She stumbled through a thorny copse, her slippers sliding on patches of sand that gave way to rock. She had very few clear memories before a particular day in the library, when they had finished one of her first reading lessons. I would be the kidnapper, of course, but we would forge ransom notes and exchange monies so that it appeared you were taken by brigands or plotters against the Iovelli family. “Listen, Annabel,” he said hoarsely. And I have no more the pistol.
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