He entered it; crossed the room, in which there was only a small truckle-bed, over which he stumbled; opened another door and gained the stair-head. Ann Veronica looked up at him and found him regarding her with eyes that were almost woebegone, and into which, indeed, he was trying to throw much more expression than they could carry. I’d take it— forgive me if I seem a little urgent—as a sort of proof of friendliness. When she tried to speak she found it difficult. She crooked her finger. I leaned over and looked at him—he was quite still.
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