“Veronique!” she cried with a rising intonation, though never before had she called Ann Veronica anything but Miss Stanley, and seized her and squeezed her and kissed her with profound emotion. They became aware of the waitress standing over them with book and pencil ready for their bill. They tried to read illustrated papers in an unconcerned manner and with forced attention, lest they should catch the leaping exultation in each other’s eyes. The wine was sweetened with cinnamon and cloves and rare edible flowers, which her father had instructed her not to drink excessively of.
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