“Damn! Things are getting plainer. ‘Hilary was right. A dry cough's the trumpeter of death. But if we had gone under—!” They regarded one another silently, and Ann Veronica had one of her penetrating flashes. You hear what I say, Quilt?" he added, looking at Jack. The crowd began to separate as it fell into the theater. The quiet encounter and home-coming Ann Veronica and she had contemplated was entirely disorganized by this misadventure; there were no adequate explanations, and after they had settled things at Ann Veronica’s lodgings, they reached home in the early afternoon estranged and depressed, with headaches and the trumpet voice of the indomitable Kitty Brett still ringing in their ears.
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