Too late she realised that Emile was not trying to escape. It was dusty, with dirty clothing strewn about, a cracked basin thick with grime on the rickety dresser, and a film of grease on the leaded casement. She removed the belt and drew down his zipper. “Damn!” said Ann Veronica to herself, rousing herself for a conflict. They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times. In vain did the woollendraper offer to set him free if he would restore the stolen article, or give up his associate, to whom it was supposed he might have handed it.
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