“Is it your maid?” he asked. She had removed her hat and utterly disarranged her already unruly black locks by running agitated fingers through them. She wished she had not stood up. Jonathan, however, paid no sort of attention to this demonstration of hatred. She opened one and found herself in a large untidy room set with chairs that were a little disarranged as if by an overnight meeting. In the corner of the room were two hockey-sticks and a tennis-racket, and upon the walls Ann Veronica, by means of autotypes, had indicated her proclivities in art.
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