“Everybody is taking it up,” said Miss Miniver. Her hormones were raging stupidly. Accepting his glass from the butler, Gerald glanced at Mrs Sindlesham and saw a dimple peep out. ” “It’s an unrest—a longing—What’s that?” The waiter had intervened. A spot of colour, brighter than any rouge, burned on her cheeks. Some of your sex, I mean. He touched a long-standing sore, and Ann Veronica found herself vainly trying to explain—the inexplicable. Not wisely but too well.
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