She wasn’t sure of herself when she said it. Nobody knows what his real name is, but he's a Hollander. Stanley, putting his hands on the table in the manner rather of a barrister than a solicitor, and regarding her balefully through his glasses with quite undisguised animosity, asked, “And may I presume to inquire, then, what you mean to do?—how do you propose to live?” “I shall live,” sobbed Ann Veronica. The one I have is a duplicate. He tried to make love to me. And, anyhow, it doesn’t matter to us.
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