"All right. “Annabel?” he exclaimed. Her acrid rose perfume oil that hung in the air that smelled like a head shop, her V. If, when he returned, he blew out the light, she would go to bed; but if the light burned on for any length of time, she would go silently to the study curtain to learn if his agony was still upon him. After all, his was a pleasant face, and a pleasant voice, and very likely Annabel had behaved badly. .
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