It was Annabel who caught at the paper. “John,” she declared, “I must eat or die. My, um, my curfew. At once. But I swear she ain’t told me nothing more, sir. 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. Right now my heart is occupied. The two aunts of these young ladies lived for many years in the dower house upon my estate in Hampshire.
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