” He said. Because of the thought of love and companionship? No. That is why I came to London. The Well Hole. ” Ann Veronica turned her back on the Michaelmas daisies, and faced toward the house with an air of a duty completed. He started a dozen stories, but they all ended in the waste-basket. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled.
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