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He picked up the remote and sat himself to her right. His literary instincts began to stir. “I should imagine,” he said, shaking out a copy of The Times, “that it is your brain which is addled. ” Capes watched the limpid water dripping from his oar. ” Annabel’s hand stole into his. ’ ‘But you are excessively clever, Jacques,’ cried Melusine, relief flooding her. They stopped talking, except to each other. One thing—he could be thankful for that—the peak of his misfortunes had been reached; the world might come to an end now and not matter in the least.
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