It is a plain case of alcoholic stupor. Swiftly following the sound of knocking, she crossed right and passed through a door near the windows—and found herself in the bookroom. " "You won't complain of the delay when I tell you what I've done," answered Jack. Wood, with a look meant to reduce her supposed rival to the dust. Ann Veronica could at the same time ask herself what this queer old gentleman could have meant by speaking to her, and know—know in general terms, at least—what that accosting signified.
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