This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s. “You know of no one likely to have had a grudge against this man?” he asked. ” Courtlaw refused brusquely, almost rudely. A series of photographs were taken of them: her on the stairs, the couple of them on the stairs, the couple of them in the kitchen, him pinning a red rose corsage with great care and acute sexual frustration. “And what is it all about, Veronica?” he asked, with a deliberate note of irony, looking at her a little quizzically over his glasses. It will be horribly dull, and she is a very trying person. He could not understand how men could live ignoring this one predominant interest, this wonderful research into personality and the possibilities of pleasing, these complex, fascinating expeditions that began in interest and mounted to the supremest, most passionate intimacy.
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