"I will return tomorrow." His smile made her turn away to hide the revulsion of his touch. If only he never came back—then this place would be bearable.A cold wind blew through the room, pushing crumpled papers off the wooden desk and unto the red carpet. Annabel picked them up, and the cold touched her spine. Stupid window. She went over to the white walls and closed it. Metal bars peered at her through the glass.She spoke to him without turning her head, a practiced obsequiousness in her voice. “My love, while you are gone, may I have visitors?”Newt chuckled and stroked his straw thin beard. Barely anything remained of his gray hair, unlike his overgrown eyebrows. “Why do you need those? Have I not enough books to keep you company?”Dozens of shelves loomed over the fireplace. They went all the way up to the ceiling, so high Annabel couldn’t reach many of the books. She stroked the leather spines of Shakespeare's Hamlet and Macbeth, her favorites. The schemes and plots made her grin.Annabel straightened her yellow dress and sat down under a painting of a ship in a storm.
