There was no answer. ‘But my poor Jacques is wounded and—’ ‘All taken care of,’ interrupted Hilary. ‘Your mystery lady, I mean. “When did you look up my mother’s records at the Joliet library, Michelle?” Lucy asked, trying not to incriminate herself by sounding confrontational. I was grateful. For a long time she surveyed a row of towering holly-hocks, as though they offered an explanation. My name is Annabel, not Anna.
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