My poor son despairs of me, for I have primed every member of the family to bring me the latest novels whenever they choose to visit. I didn’t realize—I don’t see how I can get out of it now. Ann Veronica snatched at the opportunity, and spent most of the intervening time in the Assyrian Court of the British Museum, reading and thinking over a little book upon the feminist movement the tired woman had made her buy. The very old lady in the antimacassar touched Ann Veronica’s arm suddenly, and said, in a deep, arch voice: “Talking of love again; spring again, love again. Maggot; "Jack will hear you.
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