She spent the morning up to ten in writing a series of unsuccessful letters to Ramage, which she tore up unfinished; and finally she desisted and put on her jacket and went out into the lamp-lit obscurity and slimy streets. Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. He could talk to her as frankly as he could to a man, that she would not take offence at anything so long as it was in the form of explanation. Dreams of adorable infants danced through her head as she cradled blankets in her arms. Paul's are his work. You were accused of having been seen with the latter.
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