She read beautifully because the fixed form of the poem signified nothing. Her whole conduct and tone had been modest and ladylike. “In a sort of beautiful garden-close—wearing lovely dresses and picking beautiful flowers?” “Ah! If one could!” “While those other girls trudge to business and those other women let lodgings. Ann Veronica sat down in the other arm-chair and darned badly for a minute or so. ‘Bête,’ she flung at him. She found her foster father and Mike still awake, playing high stakes UNO at the dimly lit kitchen table. Wood gave the required promise, though he could not help thinking that if either of them had cause to be jealous he was the party. “A glass slipped from the table,” he explained. “A nice time of anxiety you’ve given me, young lady,” he said, as he entered the room.
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