“Veronique!” she cried with a rising intonation, though never before had she called Ann Veronica anything but Miss Stanley, and seized her and squeezed her and kissed her with profound emotion. He would never be able to figure out that: all these miles from Cuba, and you could get a perfecto for thirteen cents. Which is why I wasn’t able to see him until today. He sat down beside her and stroked her hair.
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