She could hear him from the lower floor as he locked the gates and drew up the wooden part of the bridge. That was the only sound he heard. And her mother, looking unusually alert and hectic, wore cream and brown also, made up in a more complicated manner. They were the same. Anna was not “Alcide” of the “Ambassador’s,” whose subtly demure smile and piquant glances had called him to her side from the moment of their first meeting. She was definitely following him. ‘Obsessed, that’s what you are.
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