She had animated dark blue-gray eyes under her fine eyebrows, and dark brown hair that rolled back simply and effectively from her broad low forehead. She hoped fervently that Martin had not divulged his crush to Brown. "What do you want?" he asked, in a gruff voice. She changed her mind that day, as her mother Marina had predicted. “Call it warning, if you like. That last year in Paris, when Annabel and she had lived in different worlds, had often been a nightmare to her. I’m not a psycho.
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