"But, let that pass. ” She stopped short, full of things un-said. He disappeared into its thick doors like a magician’s rabbit. Your aunt liked the pheasant. He turned just in time to see Lucilla exchange an amused look with Hilary. The same pale white buttocks, the same freckles in the same unchanging patterns on her collarbone that all of her mother’s potions had never been able to erase. He bore it as long as he could, watching all the time with fascinated eyes Annabel moving gracefully about amongst her guests, always gay, with a smile and a whisper for nearly everybody. I’ve never had a homemade Thanksgiving meal like that.
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