Once a week, every Saturday, they had a little gathering from nine till the small hours, just talk and perhaps reading aloud and fruitarian refreshments—chestnut sandwiches buttered with nut tose, and so forth—and lemonade and unfermented wine; and to one of these symposia Miss Miniver after a good deal of preliminary solicitude, conducted Ann Veronica. When night fell, he crept into the town of Tottenham. Perhaps she might never come back to that breakfast-room again. Meantime the spinsters sought the dining room where tea was being served. She declined and finished with a few of her favorite excerpts from Scheherazade. Sheppard. Her mother tried to soothe her with tales of romance and love, of all the fineries that she would enjoy in the Palazzo, but all Lucia could do was cry until her cheeks twitched and her forehead ached. “You can’t imagine,” he said, “what a beastly thing a furtive love affair can be. She felt terribly modern, even sporty as the magazines declared you should be. Furiously, she dashed his hands away.
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