It slid off flimsily. “Odd little room,” said Ann Veronica, dimly apprehending that obtrusive sofa. Work becomes distasteful; one thinks of holidays. Humph!" "What's the matter?" "Sh!" Spurlock passed by on the way to the bar. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. He was a man who in all things classified without nuance, and for him there were in the matter of age just two feminine classes and no more—girls and women.
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