” “You do not flatter me,” she laughed. There was a confused impression of livery carriages and whips with white favors, people fussily wanting other people to get in before them, and then the church. Ann Veronica snatched at the opportunity, and spent most of the intervening time in the Assyrian Court of the British Museum, reading and thinking over a little book upon the feminist movement the tired woman had made her buy. She drank and drank until his body was a lifeless husk, as light as a mannequin, virtually hollow of all but the fluid in his bones. She patted John's head with her palm, its surface appealingly fuzzy.
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