Trees were torn up by the roots; many houses were levelled to the ground; others were unroofed; the leads on the churches were ripped off, and "shrivelled up like scrolls of parchment. When she awoke she felt as if she were adrift on a soft cloud through a golden sky. Spurling's sooty imp, Caliban. Annabel! Annabel!” His voice became a shriek. “I knew,” she said, in a low despairing tone, “that people would talk.
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