” When he brought home papers from Florence verifying that she had been declared dead having committed suicide the fateful day at the manor, she could barely believe Gianfrancesco’s signature at the bottom of the page. What is it that you wish from me? You would like to arrest me for spying? Very well, arrest me. The place, in which they stood, was a small entrance-chamber, cut off, like the segment of a circle, from the main apartment, (of which it is needless to say it originally constituted a portion,) by a stout wooden partition. I believe that the common report was that you and your sister had come to Paris to study painting. It keeps dangling in front of my eyes. But this might be merely a figurative mode of describing his customary vigilance. There was a look in her eyes which puzzled him. ” He relapsed into a stony silence. “Why should it matter?” he said. ‘How did you guess?’ ‘I guessed as soon as you said this was your house. Annabel was in hiding all the time.
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