Its architecture was richly ornamental, and resembled the style of a triumphal entrance to a capital, rather than a dungeon having battlements and hexagonal towers, and being adorned on the western side with a triple range of pilasters of the Tuscan order, amid the intercolumniations of which were niches embellished with statues. E. “Who’ll mind the baby nar?” was one of the night’s inspirations, and very frequent. Was this the result of some strange experiment? It was the person of Annabel Pellissier—the soul of a very different order of being. She meant to leave anyway, or so she would tell herself later. She dragged the broken bottle across her carotid artery, creating an inch-deep gash upon her throat.
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