Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. ‘Did I say so? When last heard from you were claiming some good English name. In the afternoon she had considered certain doubts very carefully, and decided on a more emphatic course of action. I needed a man the worst kind of way—a man I could keep for at least six months. The life with which he had endued these sheets of paper began to beckon imperiously. She became aware of the modelling of his ear, of the muscles of his neck and the textures of the hair that came off his brow, the soft minute curve of eyelid that she could just see beyond his brow; she perceived all these familiar objects as though they were acutely beautiful things. "Often.
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