“But why is it preposterous?” asked Ann Veronica, and fiddled with a pipe on the mantel. He looked at her with an expression of comical despair. The room was worse than pokey, it was shabby; and the view from the window, of chimney pots and slate roofs, wholly uninspiring. It's a bad omen to be thrown near that door. I knew it. Mere hangers on.
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