Their idea of maidenly innocence was just a blank white—the sort of flat white that doesn’t shine. Stanley, having pretended to linger to smoke, fled suddenly up-stairs to petrography, and when Veronica tapped he answered through the locked door, “Go away, Vee! I’m busy,” and made a lapidary’s wheel buzz loudly. A little smothered cry broke from her lips—the curtains were thrown aside and a man stepped out. Now she knew why the soldiers had not caught him.
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