She addressed Ann Veronica with an air of conveying great open secrets to her. She went about in a negligent November London that had become very dark and foggy and greasy and forbidding indeed, and tried to find that modest but independent employment she had so rashly assumed. V. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. He sent me home.
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