‘Small wonder in a way that he found hisself consolation elsewhere. Again he played for her; and again the eruption of the strange senses that lay hidden in her soul. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. He looked at Annabel, whose face was buried in her hands— he looked back at Anna, who was regarding him with an easy composure which secretly irritated him.
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