There was a brief pause, a crowded pause, between them. “I am the most foolish of men. ” “I suppose people would say that it is a matter of temperament,” she continued. The freezing water lapped around her ankles as she ran along its edge, marveling at the thousands of tiny white spiral shells the tide had brought in. Nobody ever called me John, that I recollect. We all love you dearly. You lack only that mechanical knack of expression which is the least important part of an artist’s equipment, but which remains a tedious and absolute necessity. “It’s odd,” said Ann Veronica, re-entering the flat.
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