“Dreadful women, my dear!” said Miss Stanley. The lunches were individual affairs: sandwiches, bottled olives and jam commandeered from the Victoria. “I don’t see, Mollie,” he remarked, taking a cigar from the box on the table as his sister and daughter rose, “why you and Vee shouldn’t discuss this little affair —whatever it is—without bothering me. Ann Veronica tried to seem absolutely unconcerned. But it was extraordinary what seemingly irrelevant things could restore her to the thought of Capes again. He remembered little whispered speeches of hers, so like the Annabel of Paris, so unlike the woman he loved, a hundred little things should have told him long ago. The country was partitioned in a similar manner. The office is a sight—not one sheet of paper on another; bills and receipts everywhere. His idea was to get behind this sustained listlessness. Earles,” Anna said.
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