You must wait till supper's over. At present the world waits for that writer, and the confused record of the newspapers remains the only resource of the curious. The lunches were individual affairs: sandwiches, bottled olives and jam commandeered from the Victoria. “Look here,” he cried out of a silence, with a sudden flash of understanding, “did you mean to throw me over when you came out with me this afternoon?” Ann Veronica hesitated, and with a startled mind realized the truth. “Maybe someday I can look them up again, just to see how they are doing.
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