She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle. Men had tried to kiss her— unshaven derelicts, some of them terrible—but she had always managed to escape. “Hainault was Celeste’s friend, and Celeste was Annabel’s enemy,” Courtlaw said. I needed a man the worst kind of way—a man I could keep for at least six months. The boy was all conscience, and he suffered through this conscience to such lengths that the law would be impotent to add anything.
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