” “Not now. ” “No,” said Ann Veronica, offhandedly. She took up the poker and stirred the fire vigorously. His five o’clock shadow was bristly against her fingers. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. Home!— which I never hoped to see again. The Plague raced through the city and the Palazzo, consuming it like fire.
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