She kissed him with a closed mouth, not as recklessly as she was tempted to do. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. Which were perfectly true, as Gerald was aware. As she did so, the ruffles to the jacket of her riding habit fell away, exposing livid blue bruises about her wrist, ugly in the light of day from the window at their back. I have said that I am but a nun now. I want to give myself to you.
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