He heard Rollo's stump beat a gentle tattoo on the floor. Then she reverted to the trousers. She regarded him coldly, as though wondering whether he had anything further to say. He felt hands tugging at him, mysterious creatures with long fingers and sharp nails that pulled at his flesh. One peculiarity she did not fail to notice. “We are not the sort that goes under,” said Ann Veronica, holding her hands so that the red reflections vanished from her eyes. ‘I can’t think how I’ve tolerated myself all these years.
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