” Ann Veronica sat at the foot of the sufferer’s bed, while Teddy Widgett, being something of an athlete, occupied the only bed-room chair—a decadent piece, essentially a tripod and largely a formality—and smoked cigarettes, and tried to conceal the fact that he was looking all the time at Ann Veronica’s eyebrows. He stopped on the curb-stone, not facing her but as if he was on his way to cross the road, and spoke to her suddenly over his shoulder. “You are not boring me,” she said, “but I would rather talk of something else. Wait a little; rest. Like the flaws of an old marble. He will have it that I’ve taken leave of my senses. Hill sat up on the pavement and mopped the blood from his cheek. Every time he left a room, she chastised herself bitterly for her own profound weakness. When, by slow and toilsome efforts, he had arrived midway, something obstructed his further progress.
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