Critically, she stared at her own features. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. "Miss Thornhill's a charming girl. ” The irrepressible smile curved Anna’s lips. The curve of his shoulders, the very angle of his feet, expressed relief at her apparent obedience. Pig and brute! Yet calling him hard names would not help her.
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