“Better,” said Ann Veronica, with an unreal alacrity. Like a nightmare memory that returned again and again to haunt her. Meantime, as the doctor was splitting his breakfast orange, he heard a commotion in his office, two rooms removed: volleys of pidgin English, one voice in protest, the other dominant. He looked across at Annabel, and he groaned. He would teach her all he knew of life so that if the Hand should ever reach his shoulder, she would be able to defend herself.
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