At the recollection that it was his, she seemed to fall through a thin surface, as one might fall through the crust of a lava into glowing depths. Paris, always beautiful even in the darkness, glittered away to the horizon. ‘I don’t want a hue and cry after me, I thank you. Ice had begun to form in the shallows. “For one thing, Anna,” she remarked, “we had not the slightest idea that you had left, or were leaving Paris.
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