He grabbed her hair viciously and whispered loudly into her tear-streaked face. “Please stop fighting me. A common rage flushed their faces. It was dusty, with dirty clothing strewn about, a cracked basin thick with grime on the rickety dresser, and a film of grease on the leaded casement. ” Annabel had been lying curled up on the lounge, the personification of graceful animal ease. She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home.
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