“Ann Veronica,” he said. Ann Veronica found herself in a little stirring crowd of excited women, whispering and tittering and speaking in undertones. “You know very well that she is selfish and pleasure-loving to the backbone. She had traversed perhaps three bookshelves, passed across the door that must lead to the hall, turned the corner, and was just about to reach the fireplace when she abruptly became aware that something under her fingers had felt wrong. "Do you realize that you are several kinds of a damned scoundrel?" he began.
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