Part 2 In the late afternoon, as Ann Veronica was gathering flowers for the dinnertable, her father came strolling across the lawn toward her with an affectation of great deliberation. “Cheveney wouldn’t have anything to say about it, as it happens,” he remarked, a little grimly. She went on from street to street, and all the glory of London had departed. The imbecile. God, Lucy, what’s it been, how many years?” “I’m so sorry, John. The noise was raucous. ‘I’m a soldier, missie.
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