” Anna got up and looked at the mirror and then at the poster. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. ‘I must, for that the pig has already gone to monsieur le baron. ‘But on the off chance—slim, I grant you —that there is a spy down there, I don’t want to miss the fun. ‘The fact of it is,’ I said, ‘I’m the new playwright, Thomas More.
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