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’ ‘But it was not your fault,’ protested Gosse, shocked. A few feet away, across the low vases of pink and white roses, sat Annabel, more beautiful to-night perhaps than ever before in her life. Chapter Eleven Melusine’s limbs nearly gave way beneath her. She could smell the sweet girl child he had buried in the garage in autumn, 1 even under the frozen ground. His salary was a few paltry hundreds a year. At last, he got into a lane, but had not proceeded far when he was again alarmed by the sound of a horse's tread.
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