The supreme effect for Ann Veronica was its surpassing relevance; it made every other atmosphere she knew seem discursive and confused. The doctor paced the room half a dozen times. Above this revolting spot was the female debtor's ward; below it a gloomy cell, called Tangier; and, lower still, the Stone Hold, a most terrible and noisome dungeon, situated underground, and unvisited by a single ray of daylight. He looked exactly as she had dreamed him, handsome, rigidly dressed in a black suit, his hair still half gray, his eyes green and flashing like a cat’s. “I noticed him call her attention to us as we passed down the room,” he answered. She heard the ocean in the distance, waves crashing on the beach, high tide. “Let us walk round to Covent Garden,” he suggested.
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