He went on munching his water-chestnuts, and stared at the skyline. At last the panel swung back into the library. Somewhere she had read that it was the proper thing to do and that men liked to be alone with their tobacco. “It’s odd,” said Ann Veronica, re-entering the flat. 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.
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