Ann Veronica’s experiences of men had been among more stable types—Teddy, who was always absurd; her father, who was always authoritative and sentimental; Manning, who was always Manning. She frowned and gripped her hands about her knees very tightly. “It is your sister and her husband,” he said. ” “I suppose this makes you an actress?” said Ann Veronica. No idea that you were here, though. ” He shook his head, and threw open the door of a great dimly-lit apartment on the ground floor. But it was almost choked up with fallen stacks of chimneys, broken beams of timber, and shattered tiles. .
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