“About my sister,” she repeated slowly. ‘Let her go. It was a look that accorded very well with the hayloft setting that had come to mind. As she hoisted her skirts near her waist, she thought ruefully of the last time she had worn such an elaborate gown, sometime near 1910 when petticoats were still considered hip everyday garb. What he needed was not a food but a flavour; and the cocoanut taste of the chestnuts soothed his burning tongue and throat. He beheld a tall gaunt man, his brown face corrugated like a winter's road, grim, stony. And this is not France, you understand. I declare I'm almost afraid to go to the door. Anna tore it open and passed it to Courtlaw.
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