‘Dare I suppose that to be of her making?’ Gerald flushed. Then he turned to Anna. He did not look up, so he did not know that in her other hand she held a glass of wine. Wood, contemptuously. She shuddered. Fresh ground, no chicory, and all the rest of it. She fell into a deep delirium, whispering hoarsely to her dead mother, cursing God in Heaven, cursing her doctor, cursing herself as apparitions of devils and demons pulled at her with yellow ochre hands. “I can say no more.
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