Ann Veronica intervened a little in the novelist discussion with a defence of Esmond and a denial that the Egoist was obscure, and when she spoke every one else stopped talking and listened. “You had no right—” panted Ann Veronica. ” He stood looking at the preparations before them with an unusual preoccupation of manner, then roused himself to take her jacket, a little awkwardly, and hand it to the waiter who hung it in the corner of the room. ‘Why, that’s it. I felt as though I had bandaged eyes. Spurlock relaxed, suddenly, and sank deeply into his pillows. “Queer letters he writes,” she said.
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