Martin said “Hi” to her in the halls every day now, a sure sign of trouble. ‘Never mind that now. “Have you killed recently?” He was curious, scared. ’ ‘Yes,’ she agreed, but her manner was a degree less warm. She was alarmed at how little her husband Gianfrancesco packed for the trip, leaving behind his best scarlet and black lucco, which he wore for every business and political meeting. ‘I knew I should find you still here. ‘What is the matter?’ ‘Is there nothing you do not know?’ she asked faintly. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one.
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