And at last Ann Veronica and Miss Miniver came down the dark staircase and out into the foggy spaces of the London squares, and crossed Russell Square, Woburn Square, Gordon Square, making an oblique route to Ann Veronica’s lodging. It had been his fevered imagination that had endued the garment with some extraordinary value. He was no Hoddy, but a tremendous man, with hairy arms and bearded face and drink-shattered intellect. He found his youngest daughter intrusive in his thoughts all through the morning, and still more so in the afternoon.
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