Perhaps these few words were the first real conscious words he had uttered in days. “Listen, Annabel,” he said hoarsely. "I should like to meet the man who would dare to gainsay it. Wood, softening her asperity. To wait for hours and hours for the night! The sea empty for days! You forgot the monotony, the endless monotony, that bends you and breaks you and crushes you—you forgot that!" Her voice had steadily risen until it was charged with passionate anger. And the bedchamber, for which Melusine instantly headed, was almost bright.
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