He has a grand time. “He is addressing a meeting of his constituents somewhere,” Annabel answered. Old farmhouses loomed as they whizzed by, left behind in the gray like mourners. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. ‘What in God’s name do you think you’re playing at?’ ‘Let me alone, man,’ Gerald muttered under his breath. You foolish girl!” Ann Veronica took that in silence.
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