“By God!” said Ann Veronica for the first time in her life. Behind them stalked Blueskin, enveloped in a rough great-coat, called—appropriately enough in this instance,—a wrap-rascal. “Lucy, you have to play for us after dinner, oh please. The hotel manager was expostulating and Ah Cum was replying by a series of expressive shrugs. “They ought to have been lopped in the spring. Is all your house on the same scale of magnificence as this, Annabel?” she asked, looking round.
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