It moved a trifle, stepping back and lifting an arm to rub the sleeve against the glass. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. He sat down beside her and stroked her hair. In the heart of the jungle the dog had his private muck baths. “That he should be in the same world with me!” said Ann Veronica, reduced to reading the list of good things the British Tea-Table Company had priced for its patrons. She wrenched her head away from his grip and got her arm between his chest and hers.
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