” He resumed, after a mouthful: “Here is a girl of sixteen or seventeen, seventeen and a half to be exact, running about, as one might say, in London. ‘Forgive my not rising to greet you,’ she said, holding out a claw-like hand. You understand me, Charcoal. It fits your style. Her eyes were dilated— fixed in a horrified stare at the parting in the curtains which hung before the window. Her sister Alice seemed to have developed a religious sense away there in Yorkshire, and made appeals that had no meaning for Ann Veronica’s mind. You aren’t afraid of thunder, are you?” He asked. There's the paragraph. " The Wastrel advanced. ‘It is not possible. He waved a cordial goodbye. Then perhaps I shall send for him if he has not forgotten.
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