” “A—what?” Anna asked. Wood, however, made known his presence to the individual by laying his hand upon his shoulder. When she came to, she was lying with her head in Martha’s lap, and a livid bruise was forming at the point of a raging headache. But her request was unheeded. ‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked, assuming a fearful accent. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica.
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