Her fingers opened and the weapon fell from her nerveless grasp. The little room was fragrant with flowers, Anna herself bright, and with all the evidences of well being. Still, it was rather terrible to suspect that one had fallen from grace, but nevertheless the thing was possible. “I want some advice,” said Ann Veronica. She never grew angry for anything her husband did: such anger as came to her was directed against the lazy, incompetent servant who was always snooping about in the inner temple—Spurlock's study. 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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