Her voice was soft and singularly musical; but from time to time she uttered old-fashioned words which forced him to grope mentally. Annabel was in hiding all the time. ‘Get out! Out, I say! Think I want another miserable cowardly good-for-nothing wastrel on my hands? Begone! Out of my house!’ He drove them to the door, grimly satisfied when the girl’s nerve broke. ‘Can you not open it?’ she cried. For hours he seemed to have pleasant dreams of open skies and airplanes, but then the dreams would disintegrate into fleshy charnel house nightmares where he could hear her calling to him through a fog. She snapped out of her blissful state and looked at him squarely in the eyes. Here goes.
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