The devil is on top, not below. He had promised her some books, for she had voiced her hunger for stories. Stanley, having pretended to linger to smoke, fled suddenly up-stairs to petrography, and when Veronica tapped he answered through the locked door, “Go away, Vee! I’m busy,” and made a lapidary’s wheel buzz loudly. Yet the smoke was curling upwards in a faint innocent-looking cloud to the ceiling. When she renewed her attendance at the Imperial College the third finger of her left hand was adorned with a very fine old ring with dark blue sapphires that had once belonged to a great-aunt of Manning’s.
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