" "Except me, dear," insinuated Edgeworth Bess. With the extra seventy-five pounds she had put after birthing her final son, Steven, her knees weren’t in good shape to be running up and down stairs all day. ‘One of your countrymen, perhaps?’ The girl clammed up, the moon of her white face staring up at him in the darkness. He brightened as she took off her hood. “How do you know—why do you think that my name is Anna?” He smiled in a quietly superior way. Supposing you take them and read them? You might be able to tell me why I felt disappointed. Then blackness.
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