He looked at his port wine as though that tawny ruby contained the solution of the matter. She also knew that he was the type who would not make a single physical overture until she pushed the correct buttons. He was therefore obliged to use the iron bar, which he did with as much caution as circumstances would permit. Keeping to the shadow of the house, he crept forward until he could see better without, he hoped, being seen. The blinds were all drawn, the sunlight kept out, one could not tell what colors these gray swathings hid. "Here, wife—hostess—fetch me that bottle from the second shelf in the corner cupboard.
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