A bowl of roses, just brought by Ann Veronica, adorned the communal dressing-table, and Ann Veronica was particularly trim in preparation for a call she was to make with her aunt later in the afternoon. She was fiercely and bitterly jealous. She looked into his eyes, truly noticing their gray color for the first time. Wood, who was standing at the edge of a raised platform, anxiously waving his hand to him. ‘Could she have been a spy, after all?’ ‘Oh, she’s not a spy,’ Gerald answered, almost absently.
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