“I want,” he said, with a white hand outstretched, “to take you out to tea. No; I’m going to stick to the rules. ‘Wait! At least tell me where I can find you. Eight per cent. Hidden menace; a prescience of something dreadful about to happen. Ann Veronica, with a sigh at the cost of hospitality, made a hasty negotiation for an extra tea and for a fire in the groundfloor apartment, and preened herself carefully for the interview. We were to live in some wretched London suburb.
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