Ann Veronica was lying on her bed in a darkling room staring at the ceiling. Both of them. She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire. She knew the truth of it all right. . " IV. At the present moment she was living in a world of her own creation, a carnival of brave men and fair women, characters out of the tales she had so newly read for the first time. A snarl contorted his features, and he marched up to it, laying his pistol down on the marquetry table so that his hands were free to grab the picture off the wall.
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