Lucy marveled at the billiards table and the sauna. Deep verandas ran around the bungalows, with bamboo drops which were always down in the daytime, fending off the treacherous sunshine. She threw out a hand to stop herself from cannoning into them and, losing balance, tripped over her own petticoats and fell to the carpeted floor, her hat falling off as she did so. For she needed him. They agreed to lend her their hold-all and a large, formless bag which they called the communal trunk. “You see,” said Ann Veronica, staring before her at the window-sash, “that’s the form my question takes at the present time.
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