Wood. The ribald demons that infested the back of Ann Veronica’s mind urged various facetious interrogations upon her, as, for example, where the witness had acquired his prose style. You do not know him. She withdrew her head with a little moan, and resumed her flight. ” “It is Number 8, Cavendish Square,” she answered simply. That dress! Only a man—and an unworldly one—would have permitted you to proceed on your adventure dressed in a gown thirty years out of date. She felt surges of longing escape every corner of her flesh.
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