So she said: “I won’t come home. ” “Then how have you managed?” “Bother!” said Ann Veronica to herself, and tried not to look guilty. Finger to his lips, Gerald pointed in the direction of the noise. That is what terrified her: the consciousness that nothing in her life would be continuous, that she would no sooner form friendships (like the present) than relentless fate would thrust her into a new circle. Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter.
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