" "Are you Mr. “Thank you,” she said coolly. ” For some creditable moments in her life Ann Veronica was utterly disgusted with herself; she was wrung with a passionate and belated desire to move gently, to speak softly and ambiguously—to be, in effect, prim. Do not be a fool, Jacques. All at once they came to the top, the faded blue sky overhead, and whichever way he looked, the horizon, the great rocking circle which hemmed them in. With a swirl of her floral chintz petticoats, she placed herself in the capacious window seat, accepted the glass Gerald handed to her, and smiled mischievously up at him. Either it was an unfortunate recovery of a trail, or he had followed her from Mayfair. "My coat!" he repeated, his glance burning into hers. Never was there another girl like this one.
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