They had scrubbed and dusted, torn down and hung up until noon. She could hear him from the lower floor as he locked the gates and drew up the wooden part of the bridge. You are my wife now and you belong to me. Jack fell on his knees beside her. He remembered little whispered speeches of hers, so like the Annabel of Paris, so unlike the woman he loved, a hundred little things should have told him long ago. She wrote it down.
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