“Perhaps,” she said, “it is the London climate. The man could put a bullet through her before she could hope to reach any one of them. She drifted back into the welcoming arms of sleep, feeling herself surrounded in silk. “It is rather odd,” he said, “but I always thought that your name was Annabel and hers Anna. The law would accord her all her previous rights: she would return to the exact status out of which in his madness he had taken her.
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