For a time he heard no more, and stared with stony eyes at a Book-War proclamation in leaded type that filled half a column of the Times that day. The smell of gunpowder was strong in the room. ” The topic of his invalid wife bored him, and he turned at once to Ann Veronica. She covered herself with her arms. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. But this afternoon it discovered an unusual vein of irritability in her.
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