Supper was quickly served; the oldest bottle of wine was brought from the cellar; the strongest barrel of ale was tapped; but not one of the party could eat or drink—their hearts were too full. Damn! I’ve splashed. “And now,” said Ann Veronica surveying her apartment with an unprecedented sense of proprietorship, “what is the next step?” She spent the evening in writing—it was a little difficult—to her father and— which was easier—to the Widgetts. I can accommodate you below.
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