Out of sight of that tell-tale window, the two officers darted across the grounds, speedily gaining the lee of the mansion walls. She cut a deep gash into her own arm with a steel screw, loosing drops of her own blood onto the floorboards. “You know I’m old-fashioned, Miss Stanley. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. Marvel. She was a very elegant young woman, slightly taller perhaps than her sister, and with an air of reserved strength underneath her quiet face and manner which Annabel may have lacked.
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