Her usual dignified reserve had availed her nothing. Over the mantel, set into an ornately carved panel with fluted columns at each end, was a portrait of a man on horseback. “Is this true, Annabel? Is he dead?” She nodded. “Have some more port wine, sir?” “It’s a very sound wine,” said Mr. " "At your peril, sirrah!" cried Wood. "I'd forgotten.
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