Even her own history teacher, Mr. “That’s all. Sometimes—a lonely forlorn child—she had gone to him and put her arms around his neck. The youth produced a crumpled-up card from his waistcoat pocket. “And yet you still live, Butterfly. It was her past now, not Annabel’s. It did not take a mind reader to glean that she had suddenly gained the boy’s obsessive attention.
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