“And think, think”—her voice sank —“of the horrible coarseness!” “What coarseness?” said Ann Veronica. ” Ennison dropped the evening paper which he had been pretending to read. ‘Oh, my God, she’s gone!’ Wrenching his hand from his friend’s slackened grasp, he darted for the door, Roding behind him. She mentally reprimanded herself to alter her own visage so as not to appear depraved. The conflict was of short duration; for Shotbolt was no match for his athletic antagonist.
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