She always left the table when they began to smoke. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. “I don’t love him,” said Ann Veronica, getting a gleam. The cold air gave her gooseflesh under her red brocade dress as she slipped outside. But I'll take care of her bill, if worst comes to worst. ‘That is the man who tries to kill me, but he wounded instead my servant.
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