It had been part of her wedding trousseau, a gift from her family to his. He bore it as long as he could, watching all the time with fascinated eyes Annabel moving gracefully about amongst her guests, always gay, with a smile and a whisper for nearly everybody. Work becomes distasteful; one thinks of holidays. ‘You dare to come to me? What do you wish of me? Why have you come? I do not want you!’ She swept round on Gerald abruptly and he braced for the onslaught. Ludicrously loud sounds streamed from the array of speakers. In the middle there was a gate. Yes, very well. The Procession to Tyburn. Suppose our proper place is a shrine.
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