Then he went back to his rooms and lit a cigar. He had heard everything. In the twilight he had ceased to be a person one could tackle and shame; he had become something more general, a something that crawled and sneaked toward her and would not let her alone. Her aunt had secretly sent on to Ann Veronica some new warm underclothing, a dozen pairs of stockings, and her last winter’s jacket, but the dear lady had overlooked those boots. Once again, he passed his hand over the surface and carefully noted all the obstacles. Knew something was up.
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