” “And you?” asked David Courtlaw. ” With a murmured word of excuse she glided away, and Courtlaw, who had come with a mission which seemed to him to be one of life or death, was left to listen to the latest art jargon from Chelsea. “My dear Vee!” Her voice became very low. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. His arm fell to his side. His number was unlisted and unpublished. "Take my life, if you're so disposed.
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