“Look here, Ann Veronica,” he began. His high brow was what caused all the ladies in town to covet him, it radiated intelligence but also something more primal. Ann Veronica brought her luggage in a cab from the hotel; she tipped the hotel porter sixpence and overpaid the cabman eighteenpence, unpacked some of her books and possessions, and so made the room a little homelike, and then sat down in a by no means uncomfortable arm-chair before the fire. “Come,” he said, “you can’t be meaning to bury yourself. They will insist upon a catalogue of things one must not do, which does nothing but fill one with the greatest desire to do them. Then I cross-checked it with the name Alberti.
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