Chapter XX ANNA’S SURRENDER “This is indeed a gala night,” said Ennison, raising his glass, and watching for a moment the golden bubbles. It would be an ice storm by midnight if it did not let up. As he pocketed it, her open palm reached out and slapped his cheek. Thames Darrell MUST die. And turning again, as if the emotions she had churned up kept her on the move, she paced back to the mantel and there stopped, staring at her own reflection in the tarnished mirror.
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