You won’t have a man’s lips near you, but you’ll eat out of his hand fast enough. “I had a visit from Sir John in my rooms,” she said. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. Gosse had hidden himself successfully then. She had in her suitcase a small scrapbook, only a few pages, what little information she had gathered on him through the years.
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