My servant. Anna’s face was half turned from him, but her expression, and the tone of her monosyllable puzzled him. It was the only time she had ever hit him, punched him right in the stomach like one of his favorite Three Stooges episodes. I’ve no name for it yet. They were silent and no longer observant, being more or less exhausted by the tedious action of the chairs. He turned the wheel carefully as he touched her neck with the other, threading her soft curls in between his slim fingers.
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