There were seven tales in all—short stories—a method of expression quite strange to her, after the immense canvases of Dickens and Hugo. Ed. They slow danced to a Bon Jovi ballad. The cork came out with a loud pop, and Anna could not help wondering how it must sound to the patient little crowd outside. Glancing around his prison, he began to think it possible he might effect an escape from it. “The truth!” Annabel bent over her and whispered in her sister’s ear.
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