“Is this true, Annabel? Is he dead?” She nodded. Unlocking a cupboard, he then took out some cold meat and other viands, with a flask of wine, and a bottle of brandy, and began to eat and drink voraciously. There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. She fought a compulsive urge to yank his shirt free. An old man with a bent back who limped in, slow and stiff, leaning heavily on a cane. "Come along, my sly shaver.
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