Ann Veronica glanced at the mirror to discover a flushed and dishevelled disorder. "What do you think of your nephew, Sir Rowland?" whispered Jonathan, who sat with his back towards Thames, so that his features were concealed from the youth's view. For a time her efforts to achieve a comprehensive concentration were dispersed by the passage of the village street of Caddington, the passing of a goggled car-load of motorists, and the struggles of a stable lad mounted on one recalcitrant horse and leading another. Capes looked at one and not over one, spoke to one, treated one as a visible concrete fact.
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