” The cab rumbled off. Her elbows were ready. '—'Pretty well,' says I; 'you're not badly off at the Friars, for that matter. From time to time the man below would shout, and the boy would let the threads go with the snap of a harpist, only to recover them instantly. ” She looked at him with uplifted eyebrows—a look of whimsical incredulity. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. "We must change the subject," remarked Thornhill, pausing in his task; "this will never do. ‘I feared as much.
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