She spoke readily enough, but there was a new timidity in her manner. Ann Veronica hesitated with a question that had leaped up in her mind, and that she felt was cruel. Why, then, did he touch it? As he climbed heavily into his chair, she was able to note the little beads of sweat under the cracked nether lip. He took her hand and looked into her eyes and spoke, divided against himself, in a voice that was forced and insincere. ‘Who, the émigrés?’ ‘Do I speak of the English, imbecile? Certainly the émigrés. And as he walked by her side they began a wrangle that was none the less pleasant to Ann Veronica because it served to banish a disagreeable preoccupation.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 28-09-2024 14:42:38