“It is rather odd,” he said, “but I always thought that your name was Annabel and hers Anna. Not at all. “No, she just worries that I’ll go Satanic and start chomping the heads off of bats and mice or something. Her companion was a portly handsome man, also dressed in a full suit of the deepest mourning, with the finest of lace at his bosom and wrists, and a sword in a black sheath by his side. ” She said fretfully. We dine at seven-thirty.
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