Ann Veronica sat firelit by her tea-tray with, quite unconsciously, the air of an expert hostess. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. He can come round there. Lucy was silent. He loved the sea, and could give a good account of himself in any weather. Then she took her sister’s hand. . ” She smiled at him cheerfully.
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