She stared down at them from a high window, peering down at their moonlit faces in the bed heavy with furs, the same bed where she had given birth to Gianfrancesco’s dead son. Now, he must have folks somewhere. “You wouldn’t. Just as I might have killed another, if he had come out. “Forgive me,” he said. " "What a mistake!" "Yes. But what I want to get at is this. " Mrs. ” Behind this woman and a little to the side of her, walked a man smartly dressed, with desire and appraisal in his eyes. Too intent on her search, and convinced besides that she was quite alone, she had been an easy prey. Annabel thought, and thought again. His invalid wife and her money had been only the thin thread that held his life together; beaded on that permanent relation had been an inter-weaving series of other feminine experiences, disturbing, absorbing, interesting, memorable affairs. But out of a belated regard for her father she wrote the surname of some one else. She was not altogether surprised when she found a deer, gutted of its entrails and strung with a garland of flowers, on the cave’s doorstep one humid summer morning.
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