Annabel had spoken calmly enough and steadily, but his brain refused at first to accept the full meaning of her words. She helped herself to the remainder of the slightly congealed bacon, and reverted to the problem of getting her luggage out of the house. Light flooded the uncarpeted chamber, revealing the decayed state of the place. ‘Well, what was I to think, miss? Martha never wrote nothing about you, and I did ask. Lucy could feel blood welling underneath a bump half swelling and already half-healing on her scalp.
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