” Anna laughed, and went back to her easy chair. A swift frown brought the still dark brows together for a moment. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. The lace was family lace, easily recognizable. The agony on the sands now ceased to puzzle her. Stanley’s pace slackened. “I came to London,” said Ann Veronica, “rather because of my own difficulty.
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