‘Oh, peste. I've just left your nephew. ” A shade of concern darkened Carol Diedermayer’s face. In addition to the various business men, solicitors, civil servants, and widow ladies who lived in the Morningside Park Avenue, there was a certain family of alien sympathies and artistic quality, the Widgetts, with which Ann Veronica had become very friendly. I want to get away—to go to London. It would be easy enough for me to write an eloquent letter about something else. “I’ve been looking out for you,” he said.
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