“Have some more port wine, sir?” “It’s a very sound wine,” said Mr. Q. They drove rapidly through the emptying streets. The winter had turned sea and sky to a wet gray. He felt he had raised a storm which it would be very difficult, if not impossible, to allay. “The Annabel who lives here, who sings every night at the ‘Unusual’? They call her by your old name. “She found my collection of witchcraft books under my bed and threw them away.
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