” “One has theories,” said Ann Veronica, radiantly. We middle-aged fools and we old fools can no longer dream. Both had lived rather quietly until a scandal had opened up a can of worms for the son, allegations of child abduction, reported sightings of a white van around nearby elementary schools. She bent down. He struck out from the shoulder, and the man measured his length upon the pavement. It was a neat, efficient-looking room, with a writing-table placed with a business-like regard to the window, and a bookcase surmounted by a pig’s skull, a dissected frog in a sealed bottle, and a pile of shiny, black-covered note-books.
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