His hands came up, his face broke apart. “Ann Veronica is looking very well, don’t you think?” he said, a little awkwardly. He wore a battered sunhelmet, a loin-cloth and a pair of dilapidated canvas shoes. I was stupid—stupid and impulsive beyond measure to burst upon you in this way. “Now I should like to know,” she said, looking at him with a quiet smile, “what you are doing here? It is not a particularly inspiring neighbourhood for walking about by yourself.
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