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. ‘Yes, I know. “It was fine and brave of you. But he had been forewarned by his great-nephew. You shall know the truth. Mr. Madame shrugged. Something in his smile, in the cynical suggestiveness of his deferential tone, maddened her. I am not boring you, am I?” She raised her eyes to his and smiled into his face. ‘That’s right, you bone idle do-nothings.
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