That last year in Paris, when Annabel and she had lived in different worlds, had often been a nightmare to her. He comforted himself, however, with the certainty which he felt of capturing his prey on the Sunday. ’ She turned her head, eyes blazing. His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love. A chill rain thrummed against the sides of John’s car, having slowed from deluge to steady patter, the snow was 158 dissolved where it lay. She regarded the young man coldly.
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