E. Do you mean to tell me you didn’t understand why I wanted you to come here?” “Not a bit of it,” said Ann Veronica stoutly. She rose, paid her bill, and turned westwards. “Let’s go outside. Yet her aunt, with a ringed hand flitting to her lips and a puzzled, worried look in her eyes, deaf to all this riot of warmth and flitting desire, was playing Patience—playing Patience, as if Dionysius and her curate had died together. The houses on Snow Hill were thronged, like those in Old Bailey. It fell to the ground and smoked ominously.
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