Ann Veronica surveyed his sloping back for a moment, and then drew her microscope toward her. It isn’t. The twists in his brain had suddenly straightened out; he was normal, wholly himself; and he knew now exactly what he had done. A stout wooden shutter, opening inwardly, being removed, disclosed a grating of iron bars. It was there in the breast pocket, stiff and legal looking. “Let me see,” she said to herself, trying to control a slight sinking of the heart, “I am going to take a room in a lodging-house because that is cheaper.
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