Don’t touch the handle, Annabel! Curse the thing, you’ve jammed it now. Her eyes were perhaps a little brighter than usual, the firelight played about her hair, there seemed to him to be a sudden softening of the straight firm mouth. By and by—as the paroxysm subsided and he became motionless—she stole back to the bungalow to wait. The dress came to her only too manifestly unwashed from its former wearer; even the under-linen they gave her seemed unclean.
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