Giving him a wide berth, and keeping her pistol high, she made her way to the door and warily peered through it. She sat, crouched together, by the corner of the hearthrug under the bookcase that supported the pig’s skull, and looked into the fire and up at Ann Veronica’s face, and let herself go. And Capes was thinking that his wife was a supremely beautiful woman. His face darkened. It would be easy enough for me to write an eloquent letter about something else.
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