” The conversation hung for a moment. His blood would be sweet with it. Surely he was imagining this picture. “Then we go on to this place, the Oeschinensee. The panel in the bookcase. An early bird clarinetist burst through in a long black skirt, swishing like a bell. That is easy. Ann Veronica could at the same time ask herself what this queer old gentleman could have meant by speaking to her, and know—know in general terms, at least—what that accosting signified.
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