Ann Veronica, with a sigh at the cost of hospitality, made a hasty negotiation for an extra tea and for a fire in the groundfloor apartment, and preened herself carefully for the interview. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. She awoke at 11:12 am, her foster sister snoring in the bed across the room. “‘Go it, missie,’ they said; “kick aht!’ “I swore at that policeman—and disgusted him.
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