” “I suppose all men,” said Ann Veronica, in a tone of detached criticism, “get some such entanglement. ” She growled. Her hands wove through his black hair, luxuriating in its thickness. A crumpled-up newspaper thrown from the gallery hit her upon the cheek. But it’s as you say. Through her door curtain she could see the light from the study lamp. Sure of foot, noiseless, he made the veranda and paused at the side of one of the screened windows. "He's here.
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