An acute sense of living was in her veins, even the taste of her wine seemed magical. She was flushed, and her eyes were bright and angry; her breath came sobbing, and her hair was all abroad in wandering strands of black. Her eyes were dilated— fixed in a horrified stare at the parting in the curtains which hung before the window. Gerald stood quite still for a moment or two, listening intently. ‘I told you I could handle her. Nobody can trust you. Their conversation hung. The rain smelled of the Tyrrhenian Sea, which lay only a few paces beyond the manor's white sea-soaked walls. Annabel lounged in her chair with a sort of insolent abandon in her pose, and wide-open eyes which never flinched or drooped.
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