To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling. The young man entered into a lively little war of words with a yellow-haired young person near the door. The women, Ann Veronica thought, were not quite so interesting as the men. She was surprised and stared at him when he did not immediately leave the bed as Gianfrancesco always did, but instead rested on his elbows. She was very excited. “We’ll go to a place where we can have a private room,” he said. “Ann Veronica,” he said. Perhaps in two or three weeks. Spurlock had better stick to the bungalow.
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