It was Annabel who caught at the paper. Her glasses moved quickly as her glance travelled from face to face. I did all for the best, I'm sure. Wagner had just been in love when he wrote it all. Couldn’t face me with what he’d done, the miserable blackguard. The easel and palette having been packed up, and the canvass carefully removed by Austin, the party took leave of the prisoner, who was so much abstracted that he scarcely noticed their departure. “Want to see my fangs?” She asked.
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