Her aunt had secretly sent on to Ann Veronica some new warm underclothing, a dozen pairs of stockings, and her last winter’s jacket, but the dear lady had overlooked those boots. Lucy had caught it when it was a millimeter away from hitting her teeth. At this juncture, Sir Cecil and his followers appeared at the threshold. ’ He grinned. I don’t think they do matter. Ann Veronica’s experiences of men had been among more stable types—Teddy, who was always absurd; her father, who was always authoritative and sentimental; Manning, who was always Manning.
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