The salt air was fresher than the stale air in the manor. ” She whispered. She was tired, hungry—and thus somewhat impatient for the food Mrs Ibstock might bring—and downcast. ’ Kimble chewed his lip, but his hostility was visibly lessening. ’ ‘Yes, a pretty theory, Lucy,’ Gerald said evenly, ‘but for one thing. Who is she, I say?” “My sister!” Annabel faltered. .
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