’ ‘Well, sir? Who is “she”? Not my granddaughter, I take it. Not even, it seemed, this interfering monsieur le major. ‘I do not command your services, mon major. ” Annabel moistened her dry lips with a handkerchief steeped in eau de Cologne. “Why? Do you think I’m a stoner?” He asked. They were wed in Florence, in the grandest cathedral she had ever seen, the Santa Maria del Fiore. Then she cursed herself for his eyes went to the letter and came back to her face.
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