And she seemed always to keep one eye on Ann Veronica’s dress. " "Rollo!" There were no locks or panelled doors in the bungalow; and Rollo was aware of it. She propped a pillow against his padded headboard and sat herself into a stiff upright position, legs expertly crossed. Ann Veronica, after a last survey of the dinner appointments, followed him, rustling, came to his side by the high brass fender, and touched two or three ornaments on the mantel above the cheerful fireplace. There were neither texts nor rubbish on the walls, but only a stirring version of Belshazzar’s feast, a steel engraving in the early Victorian manner that had some satisfactory blacks.
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