" He held out his dry hard hand into which she placed hers. “Why should it matter?” he said. Over one of the pinnacles of the tower a speck of pallid light marked the position of the moon, then newly born and newly risen. Don't be afraid, man,—off with it. There were sidetables and a writing table, similarly buried in bric-a-brac, and the chair by the French doors could hardly be seen for blankets. “I don’t care,” said Ann Veronica.
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