He had removed his silk hat, and now sat looking at Ann Veronica over an untouched cup of tea; he sat gloating upon her, trying to catch her eye. We were fellow passengers from Charing Cross, and we have been fellow lodgers in the Rue d’Entrepot. It was in another world from that in which men will die for a kiss, and touching hands lights fires that burn up lives—the world of romance, the world of passionately beautiful things. Though they do, in secret, I believe. ” Anna measured out the coffee.
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