It was a fetching gown that stretched tightly in a cream colored swath over her breasts and expanded to a full skirt with a petticoat. Perhaps this was the real turning point: the hour in which the disordered mind began permanently to readjust itself. . ” “You are sure that he asked for me—not for Annabel?” “Certain,” Courtlaw answered. As she approached, the carpenter's wife eyed her from head to foot, in the hope of finding something in her person or apparel to quarrel with.
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