\" His tone was weak and conciliatory. “You are mine, Annabel, and nothing shall ever make me give you up. “Why not?” He repeated, demanding. “For my own part I have come fully now into my inheritance. I haven’t murdered any one, or broken the law in any way that I know of. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. His glance came up again and met hers. A sacrifice. “To the young man himself,” he answered, “no! I simply object to his calling here two or three times a week during my absence.
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