’ ‘A pox on the creature,’ swore Mrs Sindlesham, clenching and unclenching her stiff fingers. The sun was rising, illuminating the trees in black as if they were drawn in ink. Your disobedience be upon your own head. “Yes,” he said, “I want to get away. “If you come a step nearer to me,” she said, “I will smash every glass on this table.
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