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She could not go to him with a preachment against strong drink; she knew from experience that such a plan would be wasted effort. Part 4 At eight that evening Miss Stanley tapped at Ann Veronica’s bedroom door. A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. Her eye met his four inches away, and his was glaring, immense, and full of resolution, a stupendous monster of an eye.
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