“You said you were in love with me,” said Ann Veronica; “I wanted to explain —” “I said I loved and wanted you. He had come to Anna’s rooms from a dinner party, and he was in evening dress. The manager twisted his moustache. . In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. “Anna,” she cried, “you must believe me. " The hooting was instantaneously changed to cheers.
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