No; I’m going to stick to the rules. Annabel was in hiding all the time. He was her only brother, and she his favourite sister. He was in a position to help her. And here she was—in a mess because it had been impossible for her to avoid leaning upon another man. His job as a painter was wearing him down acutely as he aged. He looked at her guiltily. ‘Pardon, milor’,’ said Valade, ‘but Monsieur Charvill, he was not at fault.
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