A thin mist lay on the river, giving the few craft moving about in it a ghostly look. Until she had left her island, what she heard and what she saw were truths. “But I am at singing-pitch. My foster mother, Janine, wasn’t much fatter. What do you say to Brighton——” Anna looked at him quietly—and he never finished his sentence. She began to miss him when he was gone during the day and cherish the quiet times he spent only with her.
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