Good looks, with a melancholy cast, always drew sentimental females. Ann Veronica had been an ardent hockey player and had had a course of jiu-jitsu in the High School. There was a pint of champagne and a quart of mineral water (both taboo) at his elbow. “Well, I don’t know,” she said thoughtfully. A silver necklace enhanced the dusky beauty of her neck. Sir John felt that after all forty-five was not so very old. “You see,” he said, “you are like an inaccessible gold-mine in all this sort of matter. At last in a street near the Hampstead Road she hit upon a room that had an exceptional quality of space and order, and a tall woman with a kindly face to show it. Guiding this man of hers over the troubled sea of life had engraved these lines. The carpet was a quiet drugget and not excessively worn, and the bed in the corner was covered by a white quilt.
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