Her confession was still unmade. She had not chosen her life, but she was foggy on whether or not it was right to deny others the right to join her in her suffering. He was still flashily dressed, with much obvious jewellery and the shiniest of patent boots, but his general bearing and appearance had altered for the worse. ‘Madame, I trust I see you well?’ ‘Merci. Earles,” Anna said.
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