For just as though a vague likeness is sometimes borne swiftly in upon one, so a vague dissimilarity between the face on the poster and the heroine of his thoughts had slowly crept into his consciousness. Ann Veronica’s appearance was brief and undistinguished. He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie. Clarice rubbed her belly, singing songs to the unborn baby. “But then they would find that check endorsed in his bureau. “Why not?” He repeated, demanding.
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