167 “True love is forever, isn’t it?” It was something a child would say, a phrase she had seen scratched on bathroom walls and maple trees, but it made her sad. Thwart me, and I become your mortal enemy. You did not complain then that I personated you—no, nor when Sir John came to me in Paris, and for your sake I lied. “A confusion of motives—that’s what I am!. “Is this true, Annabel? Is he dead?” She nodded. “You must answer me, Annabel,” she continued.
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