Chapter VI A QUESTION OF IDENTIFICATION The little man with the closely-cropped beard and hair looked at her keenly through his gold eye-glasses. You cannot draw. Conscience was always digging sudden pits for his feet and common sense ridiculing his fears. She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. “Well, rather,” said Ann Veronica. ‘No sense in snooping about down here,’ Gerald whispered.
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