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Miss Stanley walked round the garden thinking, and presently house and garden reverberated to Ann Veronica’s slamming of the front door. He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. Better come another morning. Still, one has to be reasonable. ’ ‘But Marthe, this is idiot. But how long would she last, withering away to a desiccated pile of skin and bone? Round and round she would go.
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