” “But what are you going to do—where are you going to live?” Annabel asked. The spinsters had purchased one grass-linen tablecloth; the girl and the young man had purchased nothing. She had eaten them, murdered them routinely, and yet he loved her still. He had made himself master of the layout of the house, that was plain. She closed her eyes and felt again an echo of the swamping warmth that had attacked her when his lips met hers.
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