She stared out of the paned glass window, watching the trees being blown bare by the gale force. “Are you aware, Ann Veronica, you nearly throttled that gentleman?” Then she reviled her own foolish way of putting it. I’m right again now. It was as if Grace-church Street, with all its shops, its magazines, and ceaseless throng of passengers, were stretched from the Middlesex to the Surrey shore. You didn’t even do that Vee; not even that. Your aunt liked the pheasant. You have grown into my life. Her hair once more was arranged with its old simplicity.
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