Either it was an unfortunate recovery of a trail, or he had followed her from Mayfair. “Now look here, Veronica, let us be plain with each other. There was a certain air of forced fortuity in his manner. It had been part of her wedding trousseau, a gift from her family to his. How she had hated it!… All these mumblings which were never explained, which carried no more sense to her brain than they would have carried to Old Morgan's swearing parrot. She had seen for herself right up in the bedroom window with her binoculars when Joanie was gone shopping one night, right with her own eyes. The door popped open with a sigh. On some insane score she fancied she had to state her case in verse. This done, she waited at the side of the bed; but he gave no sign that he was conscious of her nearness.
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