Gerald stood quite still for a moment or two, listening intently. The charm of innocence breathes around her, as fragrance is diffused by the flower, sanctifying her lightest thought and action, and shielding her, like a spell, from the approach of evil. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. His noble Florentine roots went back a thousand years, to the days of grand Rome herself. They came teeming distressfully through her aching brain: “A man can kick, his skirts don’t tear; A man scores always, everywhere. The policemen were closing in from the sides to intervene.
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