Anna was unimpressed. “I propose,” Sir John said, “that we pay for our dinner—which we haven’t had— tip the garçon a sovereign, and take a cab to the Ritz. ” “Why?” “If I were bad at it, you would be on your way to the hospital by now. “That is very nice of you,” she said. Accounted extremely pretty in her youth, her features and person expanded as she grew older, without much detriment to their original comeliness. I suppose this is the sort of damned rubbish—” “Oh! Ssh, Peter!” cried Miss Stanley. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica.
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