“I saw him stagger and sink down, and the pistol was smoking still in my hand. ” He leaned back in his chair as though wearied. Little things, almost impalpable, had happened to justify that doubt; something in his manner had belied his words. Ann Veronica was lying on her bed in a darkling room staring at the ceiling. She thought of the marvellous beauty of skin, and all the delightfulness of living texture. The man was dangerous.
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