Stanley, putting his hands on the table in the manner rather of a barrister than a solicitor, and regarding her balefully through his glasses with quite undisguised animosity, asked, “And may I presume to inquire, then, what you mean to do?—how do you propose to live?” “I shall live,” sobbed Ann Veronica. I know my son's voice too well. “As things are at present,” she said, “it is true. Don't worry about me. The cultivated indifference, which was part of the armour of his little world fell away from him. ‘He prayeth best who loveth best—all things both great and small. ” “Are you a detective or a doctor?” she asked calmly. The autumn rain had made every surface tacky, the wet seats of painted red picnic tables were avoided. I don’t quite know why. But indeed that is not at all a good description of her attitude.
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