” His arms were around her. In the end he broke his own heart along with your mother's. Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene. Reverse psychology or something, it’s like she was trying to draw him nearer by pushing him away. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. ” “Annabel is a prophetess,” he declared.
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