It was Annabel who spoke. She went on her way now no longer dreaming and appreciative, but disturbed and unwillingly observant behind her mask of serene contentment. She cried for hours but would not scream as her mother was packed into a marble coffin. The terrific mental tension of the past few months —that had held his bodily nourishment in a kind of strangulation—became as a dream; and now his vitals responded rapidly to food and air. The militia were in already.
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