‘Will you let be?’ Instead she grasped his hand tighter. Beyond was a chaise longue, covered with cushions and shawls laid anyhow across it, together with a discarded tapestry in the making, and a scattering of woollen threads about it. She would always be going to and fro up the Avenue, getting glimpses of Ramage, seeing him in trains. “You delicate female!” “Who cares,” said Ann Veronica, “seeing it’s you? Warm, soft little wonders! Of course I want them. She donned her gloves.
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