I never intended it to be anything but a short story, for I had never completed even the shortest of stories unless forced to in grammar school. “Is it any one you know?” Brendon asked. His hand flew across the paper. For a while they stood there, silent, motionless, staring at the doorway where still a few strings of the bamboo curtain swayed and twisted, agitated by the Wastrel's passage. “You are afraid,” she said, “that the young man who thinks that he is my husband has upset me. “I’ve been through all that,” she went on, after a pause. Mr. Just one thing more. It was eleven o'clock. “What’s going on with you?” John asked inquisitively, looking down at her abdomen. . Part 2 In the late afternoon, as Ann Veronica was gathering flowers for the dinnertable, her father came strolling across the lawn toward her with an affectation of great deliberation. He put down his hat and umbrella, rested his hands on his hips, and regarded Ann Veronica firmly.
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