We’ve done nothing to deserve it. ‘She didn’t behave in the least like an émigré, if these people are anything to go by. ‘It is not for myself, you understand,’ pursued the man, in an unctuous tone that sickened the general, ‘but for this poor one. I’d take it— forgive me if I seem a little urgent—as a sort of proof of friendliness. She felt a little ashamed of herself, a bit of a hypocrite. “Oh Christ! How old were you?” “Just—well, I was young. “What are you two whispering about?” She turned towards Martin. A scene now ensued, highly characteristic of the age, and the occasion. But I don't understand her; she's over my head. Ann Veronica’s universe, which had never been altogether so respectful to her as she could have wished, gave a shout and whirled head over heels. “You might at least,” she murmured, “have invented a more romantic reason. Trust you. Life is a patchwork of impressions, of vanishing personalities.
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