The water was cold but she waded deeper. For a time he would be the grim Protestant Flagellant, pursuing the idea of self-castigation. It was, Ann Veronica felt, as a sip or so of that remarkable blend warmed her blood, just the sort of thing that her aunt would not approve, to be lunching thus, tete-a-tete with a man; and yet at the same time it was a perfectly innocent as well as agreeable proceeding. ‘And I do understand. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. “I shall never marry,” said Ann Veronica, resolutely; “I’m not the sort. “But why is it preposterous?” asked Ann Veronica, and fiddled with a pipe on the mantel.
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