Wood trembled. ‘I dropped the lantern,’ Jack’s muffled voice told her. She would write to Gerald. Of the vast mass of these impressions Ann Veronica could make nothing at the time; there they were—Fact! She stored them away in a mind naturally retentive, as a squirrel stores away nuts, for further digestion. Suddenly the Wastrel took hold of the edge and flung the table aside. Another glass, Jack.
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