Except for one memorable school excursion to Paris, Ann Veronica had never yet been outside England. Grasping one of chairs about the little table, he drew it forward and sat astride it, in a fashion as insolent as it was unexpected. ‘Would it so? What sort of a girl is she, then?’ ‘She’s a consummate devil,’ Gerald declared roundly. And, as he was about to put himself into a posture of defence, his mother clasped him in her arms.
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