She had seen her really only at teas, with the Stanley strain in her uppermost. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. ’ He stopped suddenly, dismay creeping into his face. We’re handfuls. He waited. Ann Veronica looked up at him and found him regarding her with eyes that were almost woebegone, and into which, indeed, he was trying to throw much more expression than they could carry.
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