Over here men drink because they are lonely; and when they drink too hard and too long, they wind up on the beach. Stanley, putting his hands on the table in the manner rather of a barrister than a solicitor, and regarding her balefully through his glasses with quite undisguised animosity, asked, “And may I presume to inquire, then, what you mean to do?—how do you propose to live?” “I shall live,” sobbed Ann Veronica. It was obvious that he had waited for her. She sat very still, and his eyes rested on that ornament for a moment, and then travelled slowly to her wrist and the soft lines of her forearm. Partly, from your confessor; partly, from other sources. I've an idea it'll be that long before the chap gets up.
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