After dinner Ann Veronica went into the drawing-room with Miss Stanley, and her father went up to his den for his pipe and pensive petrography. I wanted something alive. If you love me, do not allude to this subject again. “You remember our first meeting?” “Yes,” he answered hoarsely. Ann Veronica was lying on her bed in a darkling room staring at the ceiling. A brief feeling of empathy with Pottiswick passed through him.
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