handed as if he weighed nothing—so that he hung from her grasp at an undignified angle, his eyes bulging. Karl had hoped to send him away unharmed, but in the space of a breath he saw that it was impossible. What was he, to have killed Edward—yet to be standing here afterwards as if nothing had happened He knew how he must look to her; the white, staring face of death.
Anne's heart ached for him. It is something that takes time to explain. I've made up my mind. I just feel I ought to pretend to be, sometimes.
Join the newsletter to receive news, updates, new products and freebies in your inbox.