She wondered wildly why she had stood up. She had eaten little or no tea, and her mid-day meal had been worse than nothing. ‘She hasn’t said so, but I presume Valade had got hold of all the useful papers,’ Gerald went on. “And now,” said Ann Veronica surveying her apartment with an unprecedented sense of proprietorship, “what is the next step?” She spent the evening in writing—it was a little difficult—to her father and— which was easier—to the Widgetts.
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