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This path, bordered on each side by high privet hedges of the most beautiful green, soon brought them to a stile. And you don’t know what led to our separation. ” He stood up rather close to her and looked into her eyes. “My name is Anna Pellissier, sometimes called Annabel. “All right?” asked the man with the light eyelashes, suddenly appearing in the doorway. “Arthur, this is Miss Pellissier—Mr. ‘You would know more of me?’ ‘I would know everything about you,’ Gerald told her, his tone at once provocative and inviting. A woman is supposed to know when a man is in love with her. Yet her aunt, with a ringed hand flitting to her lips and a puzzled, worried look in her eyes, deaf to all this riot of warmth and flitting desire, was playing Patience—playing Patience, as if Dionysius and her curate had died together.
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