But it wasn’t the harassment that bothered her. There was now no honest way of warning Taber that the net had been drawn. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. Nothing but the constraint of social usage now linked him to her. Her aunt had secretly sent on to Ann Veronica some new warm underclothing, a dozen pairs of stockings, and her last winter’s jacket, but the dear lady had overlooked those boots.
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