‘That’s what started the fracas,’ Gerald admitted ruefully, nursing his injured hand as he recalled it. “And then?” said Ann Veronica. She nibbled at his neck gently, sweetly, as her hand tracing his chest. “Can I bring you anything, sir—a whisky and soda, or a liqueur? You’ll excuse me, sir, but you haven’t touched your coffee. “Thank you—for coming,” he said. They talked across their meal in an easy and friendly manner about Ann Veronica’s affairs.
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