. He touched a long-standing sore, and Ann Veronica found herself vainly trying to explain—the inexplicable. She, having all the confidence in the world, ripped off an end and drew out the contents—a letter and a check. . The house was redolent with the smells of cinnamon baking and the stuffed turkey and marinated pork roast. She counted three on the way to the train and four more on the crowded car that would have gladly taken him to bed with not so much as a word. She had never seen her sitting on tables nor heard her discussing theology, and had failed to observe that the graceful figure was a natural one and not due to ably chosen stays.
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