Mr. Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. She sat very still, and his eyes rested on that ornament for a moment, and then travelled slowly to her wrist and the soft lines of her forearm. In this hour its colossal selfishness never occurred to him. ” He paused and looked at her, and said, with a sudden drop into a confidential undertone, “Or else I want to pray.
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