“Who are you—Annabel Pellissier or her ghost?” Anna laughed. Her naked body was an abomination of caked filth and sagging tubes for breasts. ’ ‘Of course you weren’t there,’ snapped Hilary. I’ve wanted you—always. The ruffled chemise-front under the wide lapels of her waistcoat and jacket no longer quivered, and her pose, with the full cloth petticoat spreading about her, was relaxed. During the narration Jack's features lighted up, and an expression, which would have been in vain looked for in repose, was instantly caught and depicted by the skilful artist.
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