He had come to Anna’s rooms from a dinner party, and he was in evening dress. After all, he had the means of setting this tormenting doubt at rest. It had been part of her wedding trousseau, a gift from her family to his. From the portals of the hotel—scarcely fifty yards from the canal—one saw the blank face of the ancient city of Canton. “Odd little room,” said Ann Veronica, dimly apprehending that obtrusive sofa.
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