She entered the kitchen. Ann Veronica intervened a little in the novelist discussion with a defence of Esmond and a denial that the Egoist was obscure, and when she spoke every one else stopped talking and listened. "Nothing—nothing," she answered, bursting into tears. The man who sat behind a pigeon-hole, and regulated the comings and goings, was for a moment absent. He is big and powerful; one of those drinkers who show it but little outwardly. You have never known what it is to want food, raiment, shelter. At first she thought that the woman was just a servant. Miss Stanley threw aside a black cloak to reveal a discreet and dignified arrangement of brown silk, and then embraced Ann Veronica with warmth.
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