After all, it was what she had been praying for—and Annabel could not have known her address. She let her mind run into dreams of that cloud paradise of an altered world in which the Goopes and Minivers, the Fabians and reforming people believed. She would end alone. But when all was over, a sorrowful calm succeeded, and, if not free from grief, she was tranquil. The oranges were of the Syrian variety, small but filled with scarlet honey. Reaching the panel, she was able with the aid of her lantern to find the lever at once. She untucked his starched shirt, running her hands along his smooth torso and underneath his arms.
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