He pushed her to his bed, little more than a cot, and pulled off her clothes. She turned about, and was persecuted by visions, half memories, half dreams, of Ramage. This laughter released something that had been striving for expression—her own natural buoyancy. His natal burr was always in evidence when he was sentimentally affected. And Anna was conscious of a few moments of exquisite emotion. "Do you know what you make me think of?" "What?" "As if you had stepped out of some old family album. Then she saw the bodies piled in the corner.
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