Now, abruptly, they were real again, though very distant, and she had come to say farewell to them across one sundering year. “You are afraid,” she said, “that the young man who thinks that he is my husband has upset me. Um. “NO!” she said, at last, with something in her voice that reminded Ann Veronica of a sprung tennis-racket. She felt herself falling, her bile rising in her 61 throat, the cold wind spinning around her like vertigo.
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