” Horace, the manservant, transformed now into the semblance of a correctly garbed waiter, threw open the door. “And think, think”—her voice sank —“of the horrible coarseness!” “What coarseness?” said Ann Veronica. She is no longer mine; she is yours. But that, and that sort of thing, is just a day-dream. My friend, I am only grieved that you of all others should have been so deceived.
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