CHAPTER NINE
I tried so hard to not love Annabelle. It was nigh on impossible, though. I tried to convince myself that she deserved to be hated, but I just couldn’t shake my feelings for her. I even tried to deny to myself the fact that I loved her. Out of desperation, I tried to force myself to love Estella instead. Nothing worked. I loved Anna. I never loved Estella.
The late summer of 1869 was characterized by a repetition of a select few events. I visited Anna most days around noon. I would sit by her bed, and we would talk. We talked so much as a matter of fact that her mother thought it appropriate to place a chair in the room right beside the bed. We always held hands, always in our own Venus flytrap sort of way. One day, I had the idea to bring a book. I brought to her bedside a
