“Called myself Anna,” the girl repeated coolly. Her complexion had resisted the snow-glare wonderfully; her skin had only deepened its natural warmth a little under the Alpine sun. Spurlock slept on. Suddenly Anna felt her hand seized and imprisoned in Courtlaw’s burning fingers. He was brooding over her, she could sense it, and the shadowy circles around his lovely dark eyes bespoke a terrible ongoing insomnia. Captain Roding either did not know, or did not remember that she had it.
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