Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. But at length, there was a click, and with a swish, the panel of painted books swung outward from the wall. ” “Thank you,” Anna answered coldly. Lucy looked at the stains on the threadbare carpeting to distract herself, embarrassed to her core. " "Unworthy, indeed!" sneered Mrs.
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