The act was mechanical, a bit of sparring for time: his anger was searching about for a new vent. But she had found it very difficult. His vision was becoming accustomed to the faint light now and her features were clearer. "The Wastrel seemed to take it all right. Ann Veronica was one of the few young people—and one must have young people just as one must have flowers—one could ask to a little gathering without the risk of a painful discord. By and by he ventured to peer into this window. He still watched her and questioned her.
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