\"God, it's too curly for a brush. “The truth!” Annabel bent over her and whispered in her sister’s ear. Neither of these wards had beds, and the unfortunate inmates were obliged to take their rest on the oaken floor. Sniveling brats, little fatherless bastards, you should breathe a sigh of relief. ‘Not if I heard him aright. She became aware of the modelling of his ear, of the muscles of his neck and the textures of the hair that came off his brow, the soft minute curve of eyelid that she could just see beyond his brow; she perceived all these familiar objects as though they were acutely beautiful things.
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