“It’s very good,” she said. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. They made a stratum into which Ann Veronica was now plunged up to her neck; it had become her stratum. Sheppard was no sooner alone than she fell upon her knees by the side of the couch, and poured forth her heart in prayer. The commissionaire stood there, tall and imperturbable.
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