“Call me Annabel. “I’m next, Mr. The locket contained the face of her mother—all the family album she had. ” Her heart leaped within her as she caught that phrase. His wife met him at the door, and into her hands he delivered his little charge. It was Ennison, who loomed up through the shadows. Its dreariness, like the filthiness of the police cell, was a discovery for her.
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