Every time he left a room, she chastised herself bitterly for her own profound weakness. For I still love her mother. ” She put her wrists upon his shoulders, feeling him surge with the pride of his own masculinity as she touched him. “God in Heaven, Annabel!” he cried. " Spurlock's glance shot up, flaming again. Women! He is always chanting the praise of some discovery; sometimes it will be a native, often a white woman out of the stews. Anna watched her from the windows, watched the carriage jolt away along the cobbled street and disappear.
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