The fragrance of dryer sheets lay upon her like the snow that now drifted peacefully outside. She tried to appear as if she had never been questioned before. ” “They were my posters,” Annabel said. Ireton; for may I be hanged myself if I don't believe he'll be as good as his word. You’ve got me. If he keeps his word, I'll keep mine. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. And listen, John. When she released him he ran down the beach for a stick which he fetched and laid at her feet.
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