She came back with two women, one in each arm, which she threw down like sticks as she alit onto the stone causeway. “I will not rob you of your coffee, most dutiful of sisters!” she exclaimed. I’ll take over here. 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. Breakfast was laid for one, a dish of fruit and a shining coffee equipage.
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