Every moment or two he bent over his patient. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. Nothing seemed to be amiss. “It’s odd,” said Ann Veronica, re-entering the flat. ’ ‘Yes, but they did do so. " There was a pause. “But was it wise to sing to-night?” “Why not? The man was nothing to me.
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