” “That’s a question of detail,” said Ann Veronica. ” Capes waited patiently. ” “What case?” “A divorce—or something—I don’t know. ” For some creditable moments in her life Ann Veronica was utterly disgusted with herself; she was wrung with a passionate and belated desire to move gently, to speak softly and ambiguously—to be, in effect, prim. She sat on the edge of the bed overwhelmed, the roses cradled in her arms.
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