Sir John hesitated, and then continued. Ann Veronica watched him from the dining-room window, and after some moments of maidenly hesitation rambled out into the garden in a reverse direction to Mr. She backed away, amazed as the thing buzzed loudly in the center of the room. When she entered the office a strange scene was presented to her startled gaze. She felt he was going to say something more—something still more personal and intimate. But the free arm of the stranger hit him a flail-like blow on the chest and sent him sprawling into the yielding sand. “The point is we’re not toys, toys isn’t the word; we’re litter. It’s a sort of home-leaving instinct. That is how I learned that there were such things as novels. . There was a little pause between them, full for Ann Veronica of rapid elusive suspicions and intimations.
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