He refused. “But why is it preposterous?” asked Ann Veronica, and fiddled with a pipe on the mantel. A child—as innocent as a child! Nothing about life; bemused by the fairy stories you writers call novels! I don't know what you have done; I don't care. I think too much about myself. “See you to-night, I suppose?” He sauntered off. I will hold Hilary in check, never fear. “Beautiful these autumn flowers are,” said Ann Veronica, in a wide, uncomfortable pause.
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