It occurred to Ann Veronica once that she had known him when he was younger, but day had followed day, and each had largely obliterated the impression of its predecessor. And Mother trusted him. To his relief, she nodded. “It’s still a marvel to me that we are to be forgiven,” she said, turning. “Had the pleasure of dining with you at the ‘Ambassador’s’ one night, before the show, you know—last September I think it was. She was vehemently impatient—she did not clearly know for what—to do, to be, to experience. It was all highly intriguing.
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