And he liked her. Ann Veronica pushed aside a tea-cup and the vestiges of her strawberries and cream, and put her elbows before her on the table. And she buried herself beneath the straw, which she tossed above her head with the wildest gestures. She flew up from her stool and faced the door. “Is this true, Annabel? Is he dead?” She nodded. It was Annabel’s. And even she was forced to admit to herself that this last resource of hers was a slender reed on which to lean.
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