One married as he wished and one against his wishes, and now here was Ann Veronica, his little Vee, discontented with her beautiful, safe, and sheltering home, going about with hatless friends to Socialist meetings and art-class dances, and displaying a disposition to carry her scientific ambitions to unwomanly lengths. She found herself mildly entertained by staring at the houses through the rain as she walked home, all cast in a gray blurry film noir gauze of rain. ‘Still, the comtesse has them well in hand. His attraction for her was now written plainly on his freckled face, revealed by the many drinks he had imbibed. As Leonardo had himself pronounced, who better than a mountebank to teach of the perils awaiting the unwary? Who better than a wastrel to demonstrate the worth of thrift? And who could instruct better in the matter of affections than one who had thrown them away? ‘If he had loved me,’ she said, in the flat tone she had learned to use to conceal her vulnerable heart, ‘he would have left me at Remenham House to live a life of an English lady. And the bedchamber, for which Melusine instantly headed, was almost bright. It was a haunted place. "No, I don't. The streets were full of colour. I am something of an old fogey, Anna, I’m afraid, but if you treat me like this you will teach me to forget it.
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