“But Julian, we don’t even know each other!” She exclaimed. Spurling, who did not dare to exhibit her satisfaction otherwise than by privately pinching the arm of her expected husband. He was unusually absurd and ready, and all the time it seemed to Ann Veronica as a delightful possibility, as a thing not indeed to be entertained seriously, but to be half furtively felt, that he was being so agreeable because she had come back again.
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