Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. Move. Without a word or a gesture, the Wastrel turned and staggered forth, out of the orbit of these two, having been thrust into it for a single purpose already described. Sheppard is, without your information, Sir. She watched, puzzled, as her cavalier frowned at the newcomer, glancing from him to Melusine and back again. ‘Didn’t mean it, love.
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