She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. She realized in a moment what had happened. Books; an inexplicable hunger to be satisfied. There were dark rims under her eyes, soft now with unshed tears. Have you got someone in mind for me?" "Finish your breakfast and I'll tell you the story. My name is Annabel, not Anna. It was a simple wish. Chapter XI THE PUZZLEMENT OF NIGEL ENNISON Nigel Ennison walked towards his club the most puzzled man in London.
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