Annabel half filled her glass with wine, and taking a little folded packet from her plate, shook the contents into it. From McClintock's came an infernal tinkletinkle, tump-tump! There was no composing with such a sound hammering upon the ear. From the threshold she looked her accuser steadily and coldly in the face. She crouched beneath a stump, her extremities twitching as the sun set orange and blue beyond the lace of iron-black trees.
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