A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. “NO!” she said, at last, with something in her voice that reminded Ann Veronica of a sprung tennis-racket. 13 Montague Street. ‘You would read my mind?’ Gerald was pretty certain he already had, but he did not say so. ’ He strode to the fireplace behind the leather-topped desk and addressed his own reflection in the mirror, wagging an admonitory finger in his own face.
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