Part 2 In the late afternoon, as Ann Veronica was gathering flowers for the dinnertable, her father came strolling across the lawn toward her with an affectation of great deliberation. ‘Bête,’ she flung at him. She was reasonably certain why. “Did you ever see women so weary-looking and so dowdy? They do not talk. Still—I don’t know whether I quite like—Something ramshackle about those people, Vee. We’ll find a way to survive. He reached for her, and she struck savagely. “Will you be moral and your species, or immoral and yourself? We’ve decided to be immoral. "She is my lawful wife. I didn’t understand before that letter. “And what was that dreadful confession you had to make?” he was saying. To-morrow, we'll go to the Fleet and get spliced.
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