It depresses one, you know. She found herself in a phase of violent reaction against the suffrage movement, a phase greatly promoted by one of those unreasonable objections people of Ann Veronica’s temperament take at times—to the girl in the next cell to her own. He was a small, dark, reserved man, with a large inflexiblelooking convex forehead, and his wife was very pink and high-spirited, with one of those chins that pass insensibly into a full, strong neck. This girl whom he had met by chance and befriended had done both. “Damn! Things are getting plainer. I should only disappoint you terribly some day. Wild," implored the turnkeys. ‘You were his daughter. Someday I'll take you down there and have them rig up the coconut dance for you. Nigel Ennison was he. Ann Veronica sat down in the other arm-chair and darned badly for a minute or so.
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