“Vee,” she said, “come home. Jonathan, however, still lingered. “What are you doing?” “Nothing. From the centre of the ceiling hung a replica of the temple lamp in the Taj Mahal. She felt he was going to say something more—something still more personal and intimate. Annabel watched her with wide-open, terrified eyes. She was inclined to think that perhaps for a girl the converse of his method was the case; an older man, a man beyond the range of anything “nonsensical,” was, perhaps, the most interesting sort of friend one could meet.
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