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What had she so nearly said? She had almost spoken a name—and quickly withdrawn it. And it is not at all his affair. Once a week, every Saturday, they had a little gathering from nine till the small hours, just talk and perhaps reading aloud and fruitarian refreshments—chestnut sandwiches buttered with nut tose, and so forth—and lemonade and unfermented wine; and to one of these symposia Miss Miniver after a good deal of preliminary solicitude, conducted Ann Veronica. “You certainly are. She said that? To be closer to you?” “I think she is plotting something, though I cannot guess what. With nobody who cares … the both of us!" He was real in this moment. Retract your words instantly, or take the consequences. And Ann Veronica walked beside him, trying in vain to soften her heart to him by the thought of how she had ill-used him, and all the time, as her feet and mind grew weary together, rejoicing more and more that at the cost of this one interminable walk she escaped the prospect of—what was it?—“Ten thousand days, ten thousand nights” in his company.
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