Anna looked at her curiously, and with sinking heart. The same pale white buttocks, the same freckles in the same unchanging patterns on her collarbone that all of her mother’s potions had never been able to erase. So I undertook to protect her by keeping love out of her life, by crushing it whenever it appeared, obliterating it. It had been brighter than the rest, for dawn light had come in through high unshuttered casements above the bookshelves. "While I live you are safe," rejoined Trenchard; "after my death I can answer for nothing.
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