Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. Still—” Then, with incredible and obviously deliberate stupidity, and a voice as flat as her own, he asked, “Who is the man?” Her spirit raged within her at the dumbness, the paralysis that had fallen upon her. He had drawn a horrid picture of the fate that awaited mademoiselle when once the populace discovered her relationship to the Valade family.
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