"I'll tell you why," he said. But his lips were honourlocked. She wished she had not stood up. That is what terrified her: the consciousness that nothing in her life would be continuous, that she would no sooner form friendships (like the present) than relentless fate would thrust her into a new circle. Nothing, however, could be discerned, except the crumbling brickwork. Let me say it to you. On the mantelpiece in front of her was a note addressed to her in Annabel’s handwriting.
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