“Your name and address in his pocket was no delusion,” he said sharply. She saw herself begin a slow, sinuous dance: and stop suddenly in the middle of a figure, conscious that the dance was not impromptu, her own, but native—the same dance she had quitted but a few minutes gone. “He can’t be more than thirty. He was sitting back from the table now, with one arm over the back of his green chair and the other resting on the little table. Ramage talked always about women or some woman’s concern, and very much about Ann Veronica’s own outlook upon life. ” He looked at her with white, set face.
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