Annabel laughed a little uneasily. That’s— that’s my private life. "In case he should consent—" "He never will," interrupted Winifred. Get the men back to their posts. Even in her own sorry skin-and-bones state of wraithlike pallor and gray under eye circles she was drawing unwanted attention from would-be admirers. It reminded her of one of the old tales her mother Marina had told her about a sculptor named Farhat.
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