In the little apartment, under the gas chandelier, his inches and his stoop were certainly very effective. You spoke just now of a youth whom Mr. D. There’s no logic in these things. Is all that folly done with—for ever?” Annabel shivered ever so slightly. He held her hand in his, cupped together like a pair of shells for the rest of the hour. Yet he’s been here for six years, and he’s as much a fixture as that sham mahogany sideboard. And Miss Miniver fell discussing whether Goopes or Bernard Shaw or Tolstoy or Doctor Tumpany or Wilkins the author had the more powerful and perfect mind in existence at the present time.
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