It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. Soup would help you feel better, soup and hot tea. ‘And you mean this? Truly?’ ‘Entirely. ” “I think,” Lady Lescelles said, putting down her teacup, “that I must send Nigel to plead his own cause. “NO!” she said, at last, with something in her voice that reminded Ann Veronica of a sprung tennis-racket. “Anna,” he pleaded, “be merciful. “We’ve all been mixing our ideas, and we’ve got intellectual hot coppers— every blessed one of us. Gianfrancesco’s had curved differently and was darker. She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. “The real reason why I am out of place here,” she said, “is because I like men. She went next day to the schools, and her world seemed all made of happiness just worked up roughly into shapes and occasions and duties.
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