“You are mine, Annabel, and nothing shall ever make me give you up. Gianfrancesco had told her about it, how he had played in it as a child with his brothers. He took her there on the cold, dirty floor, his nails digging into her back, his teeth sinking into her breasts. It was only when they came into a square that daylight had a positive quality. He had been the one to dress her in the finest silks and brocades, and here she was, displayed for the world to see in 248 drugstore makeup and the uniform of an old schoolteacher. ‘No, my poor guardian,’ Gerald mocked. She felt he was going to say something more—something still more personal and intimate. Michelle shrugged her off. "You don't recollect me, I presume?" premised the stranger, taking a seat. ” He glanced over at her cockeyed, and then returned his gaze to the road.
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