‘What the devil do you think you’re doing?’ protested Hilary angrily. She was afraid people would follow her, she was afraid of the dark, open doorways she passed, and afraid of the blazes of light; she was afraid to be alone, and she knew not what it was she feared. Annabel half filled her glass with wine, and taking a little folded packet from her plate, shook the contents into it. " "Ship her back to her father"—sagely.
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