Ann Veronica looked down at her fingers on the claret-colored table-cloth. ” The shock of their intellectual attitude was over, usage robbed it of the first quaint effect of deliberate unreason. He was a little impressed by Ann Veronica’s metaphor of the string, which, indeed, she owed to Hetty Widgett. Either she had been seen, or they were seeking the air. Oh! I'm in such a fluster!" Upon which, she snatched up her fan, cast a look into the glass, smoothed down her scarf, threw a soft expression into her features, and led the way into the next room, whither she was followed by her daughter and Thames Darrell.
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