You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. ” “And he sat at my table,” Annabel said bitterly, “and yet he did not know me. He jumped back, cursing. Brendon looked across the room at her thoughtfully. He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie. He was safe, out of the beaten track, at last really comparable to the needle in the haystack. ” Annabel had been lying curled up on the lounge, the personification of graceful animal ease. “I’m being honest with you. The Pursuit.
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