A blow from the iron bar instantly stretched the ruffian on the floor. Miss Stanley threw aside a black cloak to reveal a discreet and dignified arrangement of brown silk, and then embraced Ann Veronica with warmth. And if I don’t, I go mad. He leaned back in a low chair, and watched her graceful movements, the play of her white hands as she bent over some wonderful machine. Here he found another strong door, making the fifth he had encountered. On the next morning—Sunday—the day on which he expected his mother's funeral to take place, he set out along the Harrow Road.
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