. Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. It was an excuse, dredged up on the spur of the moment to cover a slip. And—the idea of committees, of hustings, of agenda-papers!” “I don’t see why the responsibility of beauty should all be shifted on to the women,” said Ann Veronica, suddenly remembering a part of Miss Miniver’s discourse. As a matter of fact Mr. ‘You cannot mean General Charvill?’ ‘That old martinet?’ exclaimed Roding. Slipshod; follow me.
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