“Let me help you,” he begged. ” “Yes, but men;” said Ann Veronica, plunging; “don’t you want the love of men?” For some seconds they remained silent, both shocked by this question. The manager conceded that he saw, that his original diagnosis was at fault. She was young and bright, little to no make-up except for lip-gloss, long, straight, glossy reddish blonde hair slightly past her shoulders. “Never—but, by Jove, you had a narrow escape,” Ennison exclaimed. In her sitting-room I found Montague Hill.
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