Ann Veronica’s experiences of men had been among more stable types—Teddy, who was always absurd; her father, who was always authoritative and sentimental; Manning, who was always Manning. ‘Cajolery? This is not your style. Manning—“one in Oxford University and one in Kensington. But this I cannot do. It drives him to my island, where I can study him to my heart's content. ” She turned abruptly at right angles to the path they followed. “Mr. I’ve never seen her quite so sure of herself. That wasn’t even the worst thing. This was the first young man who had drawn from her something more than speculative interest.
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