The girl who had just left the room was as great a mystery to him now as on the afternoon when he had met her in Piccadilly and taken her to tea. “And think, think”—her voice sank —“of the horrible coarseness!” “What coarseness?” said Ann Veronica. ‘The wretch said nothing to anyone. She was nestled under his bedspread. In a momentary fury she seized and tore in pieces the study which remained upon the easel. He was standing up with the telegram crumpled in his hand. Melusine shrugged.
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