She returned home through a world that was as roseate as it had been gray overnight. ‘Anyhow, never mind that now. His gangling body was clothed in rusty twill trousers and a long black seersucker coat, buttoned to the throat, around which ran a collar which would have marked him the world over as a man of the Word. He had brought the shrubs down from Syria, and, strangely enough, they had prospered. The guests congregated within the night-cellar were, in fact, little better than thieves; but thieves who confined their depredations almost exclusively to the vessels lying in the pool and docks of the river. “She”, you say. Afterward her brother Roddy, also strange in velveteen, feeling rather than knowing of this relationship, punched this Adonis’s head. Ann Veronica forgot him as soon as she was through the gate, and her face resumed its expression of stern preoccupation.
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