Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. “Forgive me,” he said, “but I want to hear it from your sister. ‘I’ll play you at your own game,’ he growled, holding the foreshortened foil in place with rigid control. ‘Would it so? What sort of a girl is she, then?’ ‘She’s a consummate devil,’ Gerald declared roundly.
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