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It dropped sideways and fell with a bang to the table. "I am expected, I find," observed Jack, glancing at the well-covered board. Mike was drinking a cup of black coffee. A bowl of roses, just brought by Ann Veronica, adorned the communal dressing-table, and Ann Veronica was particularly trim in preparation for a call she was to make with her aunt later in the afternoon. Her mother had died when she was thirteen, her two much older sisters had married off—one submissively, one insubordinately; her two brothers had gone out into the world well ahead of her, and so she had made what she could of her father. The amazing tonic of the thought! From time to time she laid her hand upon Spurlock's forehead: it was still cold. ‘Madame, I trust I see you well?’ ‘Merci.
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