He had absorbed her in a single glance, and was now defining her as he worked. The question ceased to be a tea-table talk, and became suddenly tragically real for Ann Veronica. “You remember our first meeting?” “Yes,” he answered hoarsely. And instead of accepting the situation gratefully, he felt vaguely hurt! One evening in September a proa rasped in upon the beach. The vestry door opened to the mews behind, and not to Golden Square. She went next day to the schools, and her world seemed all made of happiness just worked up roughly into shapes and occasions and duties. It had been a part of the vast domain of the servants in the house’s earlier incarnation. He accepted the glass of wine, and bowed.
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