“What on earth did you expect me to do, then?” he asked. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. org/license). No! That was impossible. I can’t stand it. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory. “No you don’t!” said Ann Veronica, and walked out at a brisk and businesslike pace toward the house. “You mean to tell me” he said, “that you have a lover? While I have been keeping you! Yes—keeping you!” This view of life he hurled at her as if it were an offensive missile.
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