It was Annabel’s. "Aye—to pretend to her that you don't care. How dreary it all looks. You know very well that you took from my easel David Courtlaw’s study of me, and sent it to Cariolus. She was young and bright, little to no make-up except for lip-gloss, long, straight, glossy reddish blonde hair slightly past her shoulders. "No, lad," said McClintock, his tone becoming kindly.
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