She tiptoed into the entryway where some decorator had placed a live orchid upon a glassy ebony table. “Oh, Veronica!” she said, “to leave your home!” She had been weeping. Why on earth couldn’t he leave her to grow in her own way? Her pride rose at the bare thought of return. "Eh-day! what's this?" cried Wood, looking up from beneath his spectacles. He stared at the woman depicted thereon for a long moment, awe in his head. It is queer how ideas pop into one's head. “He has said something of the sort.
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