“Have you ever seen Annabel with him?” she asked. Pale, flesh-colored light filtered in through the corners of the house. ‘And me?’ ‘Oh, you’re mad because you wish to blow off my head. Nor was he long in making it available. The knots and broken pale that made the garden-fence scalable, and gave access to the fields behind, were still to be traced. All through the love music of the second act, until the hunting horns of Mark break in upon the dream, Ann Veronica’s consciousness was flooded with the perception of a man close beside her, preparing some new thing to say to her, preparing, perhaps, to touch her, stretching hungry invisible tentacles about her.
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