Sir John gave his order, deliberately stumbling now and then over a word, and anglicizing others. She entered the last room, his bedroom. He appeared to thunder dire happenings if she did not obey him without further ado. Only after he had pushed himself completely inside was the friction lessened. “Look here! Aren’t you going a little too far? This—this is degradation—making a fuss with sleeves. I was his wife. Ann Veronica intervened a little in the novelist discussion with a defence of Esmond and a denial that the Egoist was obscure, and when she spoke every one else stopped talking and listened.
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