E. ” Chapter XIX “THIS IS NOT THE END” “I said some afternoon,” she remarked, throwing open her warm coat, and taking off her gloves, “but I certainly did not mean to-day. And yet for all that— It got into Ann Veronica’s nights at last and kept her awake, the perplexing contrast between the advanced thought and the advanced thinker. But when she reached the pavement outside her teeth were clenched, and she carried herself unconsciously an inch or so higher. He did not know what her game was, although he had a shrewd suspicion that she had been co-opted into it by her supposed husband, the soi-disant Valade. Miss Stanley, it was manifest, had given him Ann Veronica’s address. Her eyes noted it mercilessly. Spurlock was basically a poet, quick to recognize beauty, animate or inanimate, and to transcribe it in unuttered words. “Flesh and flowers are all alike to me.
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