The note-passer lagged behind with her. He went into the study and sat down at his table, but not to write. Ann Veronica looked down at her fingers on the claret-colored table-cloth. "I'm glad to hear it, that's all," he added, taking out his snuff-box, his never-failing resource in such emergencies. You would steal from me then the only man I ever cared a snap of the fingers about. He displayed none of the airy optimism of their previous talk over the downland gate.
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