Balanced on his nose were enormous tortoise-shell spectacles. Into this hole in the wall and out of it the native stream flowed from sunrise to sunset, when the stream mysteriously ceased. Standing over the pierced Rhea, Lucy bayed, a long cry that was half-scream and half-howl. Annabel lounged in her chair with a sort of insolent abandon in her pose, and wide-open eyes which never flinched or drooped.
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