She had asked to borrow his pencil out of dire necessity. God is a jealous God, and He turned upon me relentlessly. London Bridge had suffered a degree less than most places. Then a servant girl brought in a telegram. She sat, crouched together, by the corner of the hearthrug under the bookcase that supported the pig’s skull, and looked into the fire and up at Ann Veronica’s face, and let herself go.
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