” He could feel a small bump where he knew a cavity of smooth flesh should reside. It seems to me just talk; it seems to me like the fancy of a dream. She is not in the least like the descriptions of her. Alcohol— would you believe it?—steadies his nerves and keens his brain: which is against the laws of gravitation, you might say. Great vistas of history opened, and she and her aunt were near reverting to the primitive and passionate and entirely indecorous arboreal—were swinging from branches by the arms, and really going on quite dreadfully—when their arrival at the Palsworthys’ happily checked this play of fancy, and brought Ann Veronica back to the exigencies of the wrappered life again. She crawled into her small bed, dizzy with the thoughts of him, of kissing him.
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