The ribald demons that infested the back of Ann Veronica’s mind urged various facetious interrogations upon her, as, for example, where the witness had acquired his prose style. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. She fluttered it with a trembling hand, averting her eyes from his, and he could hear her uneven breath behind it. What more is there to be said? She defies me!” It was extraordinary.
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