“A glass slipped from the table,” he explained. ’ ‘Also madame his wife—’ Charvill’s gorge rose. But the mere recognition of his son’s signature was enough to stoke the fires of his long-held rage. Her fingers were bursting through her gloves, as if to get at once into touch with Ann Veronica. And look down, so. But I was portentous, I can assure you.
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