"How do you know that?" rejoined Jack. Ann Veronica found herself in a little stirring crowd of excited women, whispering and tittering and speaking in undertones. A chill rain thrummed against the sides of John’s car, having slowed from deluge to steady patter, the snow was 158 dissolved where it lay. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. That would come later. " "But, Lord, man!—don't you ever get lonesome?" "Don't you?" "I'm too busy.
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