Ann Veronica sat firelit by her tea-tray with, quite unconsciously, the air of an expert hostess. He was asleep. “Endless. The slack cloth of her habit caught on a curlicue in the carved back of the pew in front, pulling her suddenly about. But they cut it all off. She had neither the semi-boisterousness of the average American girl nor the chilling insolence of the English. Well, I'll have a look-see at this young De Maupassant. Earles, but it is a good one.
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