The hour for which, presumably, she had been created was drawing nigh. ” “But what are you going to do—where are you going to live?” Annabel asked. . It would have been better had he succeeded in murdering her, she thought. Breakfast was laid for one, a dish of fruit and a shining coffee equipage. “Why should one pretend?” she whispered. She was fatigued physically and mentally, and neither mind nor body could rest. She had, poor inexperienced fool, given herself away. She looked upon it with pity as she drank his diabetic blood and saw that several of his fingers were missing.
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