The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. But this revulsion was engulfed by the succeeding waves of pity and understanding. Before ever I knew you. “We have to get in, I think,” said a nice little old lady in a bonnet to Ann Veronica, speaking with a voice that quavered a little. She wanted him so badly it hurt.
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