They had asked her to come to the first of the two great annual Fadden Dances, the October one, and Ann Veronica had accepted with enthusiasm. “I supposed that he took off his hat to you. Then she threw the volume away with a little impatient exclamation. The response of her body was enough that she lazily opened her eyes. ‘A spitfire, ain’t she, sir?’ Roding ignored this. She sat very still, and his eyes rested on that ornament for a moment, and then travelled slowly to her wrist and the soft lines of her forearm.
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