There was a deep groan, and the sound of a fall within. Stanley, having pretended to linger to smoke, fled suddenly up-stairs to petrography, and when Veronica tapped he answered through the locked door, “Go away, Vee! I’m busy,” and made a lapidary’s wheel buzz loudly. That last year in Paris, when Annabel and she had lived in different worlds, had often been a nightmare to her. It still failed in something. "Is it poison?" she asked.
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