She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. His course, however, was no longer interrupted, and he crept on. . Ann Veronica had had some training at the Tredgold College in disentangling threads from confused statements, and she had a curious persuasion that in all this fluent muddle there was something—something real, something that signified. . ‘I don’t want a hue and cry after me, I thank you. “NO!” she said, at last, with something in her voice that reminded Ann Veronica of a sprung tennis-racket. For the first time that day, she was finally able to look into his face.
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