She sat, crouched together, by the corner of the hearthrug under the bookcase that supported the pig’s skull, and looked into the fire and up at Ann Veronica’s face, and let herself go. Spurlock slumped in his chair, weak and empty. “What were you doing outside Miss Pellissier’s flat to-night? You were looking at her windows. “Well, you have thought it over?” he said, sitting down beside her. “I know the place you mean—very good cooking for such an out-of-the-way show.
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