There was a little pause between them, full for Ann Veronica of rapid elusive suspicions and intimations. Her soul was full of the sense of disaster. Michelle's home was one of the smaller palaces, made solidly of red brick with charming black shutters and window boxes full of drooping violets. She could not say to Michelle that the Vorsack house had more than just a little tinge of “bad”. There were cakes and sandwiches—for Ennison a sort of Elysian feast, long to be remembered. Unlocking a cupboard, he then took out some cold meat and other viands, with a flask of wine, and a bottle of brandy, and began to eat and drink voraciously. Tell me I haven’t heard. ‘How did you guess?’ ‘I guessed as soon as you said this was your house.
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