“I’d chuck this lark right off if I were you, Vee,” he said. “It seems to me it comes to earning one’s living in the long run,” said Ann Veronica, coloring faintly. The Jacobite daws want a scarecrow. . Well-balanced, sane, wasn’t I? You never heard anyone call me a madman? I’m pretty near being one now, and it’s her fault. Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites. It was a work of no slight danger, for every instant a wall, or fragment of a building, came crashing to the ground. He “went in” for microscopy in the unphilosophical Victorian manner as his “hobby.
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