Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. She uttered a little ejaculative note of joy and rushed to the bed. Her safety lay in pretense—that what she saw was as a tale twice told. Her eyes filled as she thought of him, the image of his laughing countenance coming into her mind, to be swiftly followed by a vision of the blood running from his cut hand. “Don’t be childish, Annabel. Every moment. " It was only a shade better than the Stone Hold.
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