" "Rely on me," rejoined Kneebone. She trailed him to his apartment and a black door that read 727 in solemn gold-tone lettering. “But what can one do?” asked Ann Veronica. He was unusually absurd and ready, and all the time it seemed to Ann Veronica as a delightful possibility, as a thing not indeed to be entertained seriously, but to be half furtively felt, that he was being so agreeable because she had come back again.
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