Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. Annabel ignored both the chair and the invitation. As soon as he had read it, he let it fall from his grasp. Frequently he would take up a box of talc and send a shower down his back, or fill his palms with the powder and rub his face and arms and hands. He’s waiting. A thin line of red appeared in the white neck. F.
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