She clenched her hands together and leaned forward in her chair, gazing steadily into the fire. “Oh God!” she cried, “Oh God!” and flung aside her opera-cloak, and for a time walked about the room—a Corsair’s bride at a crisis of emotion. D'ye hear how the wanes creaks on old Winchester House? We shall have a touch on it ourselves presently. Strongly impregnated with the mingled odours of tobacco, ale, brandy, and other liquors, the atmosphere was almost stifling.
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