She had tried to shift the subject of conversation away from herself and was even managing successfully until Chen the father addressed her. The room was worse than pokey, it was shabby; and the view from the window, of chimney pots and slate roofs, wholly uninspiring. Though scarcely two hours past midnight, it was perfectly light. I have it on my conscience that I offended you—” “Offended me when?” “I’ve been haunted by the memory of you. “We are not the sort that goes under,” said Ann Veronica, holding her hands so that the red reflections vanished from her eyes.
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