The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. “You’d have to think how to get in between his bones. He came in apologetically; all the old “Well, and how ARE we?” note gone; and once he asked Ann Veronica, almost furtively, “How’s Alice getting on, Vee?” Finally, on the Day, he appeared like his old professional self transfigured, in the most beautiful light gray trousers Ann Veronica had ever seen and a new shiny silk hat with a most becoming roll. Her usual dignified reserve had availed her nothing. Grasping one of chairs about the little table, he drew it forward and sat astride it, in a fashion as insolent as it was unexpected. In some cases they were ground almost to powder; in others, driven deeply into the earth, as if discharged from a piece of ordnance.
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