Ann Veronica was one of the few young people—and one must have young people just as one must have flowers—one could ask to a little gathering without the risk of a painful discord. She crouched beneath a stump, her extremities twitching as the sun set orange and blue beyond the lace of iron-black trees. Where her husband saw only two youngsters in the mating mood, she felt that tragedy in some phase lurked in this room—if only in the loneliness of these two, without kith or kin apparently, thousands of miles from home. He used to live in a boarding-house in Russell Square.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 29-09-2024 08:23:58