His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love. Part 4 But presently, as she sat on the one antimacassared red silk chair and surveyed her hold-all and bag in that tidy, rather vacant, and dehumanized apartment, with its empty wardrobe and desert toilet-table and pictureless walls and stereotyped furnishings, a sudden blankness came upon her as though she didn’t matter, and had been thrust away into this impersonal corner, she and her gear. Ann Veronica paused before she answered. This is not true at all. Then her fingers moved. A young man with shiny frock coat and very high collar, advanced towards her languidly. He was always forgetting that his tummy was fifty-four years old. The door of cabin 2 was open.
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