“Why don’t you?” “Well, it might mean rather a row. Manning central in her mind. The theme was a masquerade. She looked down tassels of his shiny shoes with a scowl. The question ceased to be a tea-table talk, and became suddenly tragically real for Ann Veronica. In a moment the brisk evening breeze caught the lank canvas and bellied it taut. ‘Laisse-moi,’ she threw at him, her brief attack of sobs already ended, although the trace of tears on her cheeks bore witness to its sincerity.
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