Ann Veronica sat firelit by her tea-tray with, quite unconsciously, the air of an expert hostess. That was supposed to be Madame Valade. With thinly veiled glee, Michelle described a rumor she had heard about John at a recent party. He glanced up. Her spirit awoke in dismay to an affection in ruins, to the immense undignified disaster that had come to them. ‘Espèce de bête,’ she snarled.
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