” Ann Veronica picked a cornflower. ” Then it was her father issued his ultimatum. She got up, put the neat cuffs she had made into her work-basket, and went to the bureau for the little cards in the morocco case. She felt surges of longing escape every corner of her flesh. I have an appetite which I dare not increase. You shall not take me alive. Ye gods! what a wilderness it is! Every one trying to get the better of every one, every one regardless of every one—it’s one of those days when every one bumps against you—every one pouring coal smoke into the air and making confusion worse confounded, motor omnibuses clattering and smelling, a horse down in the Tottenham Court Road, an old woman at the corner coughing dreadfully—all the painful sights of a great city, and here you come into it to take your chances. Her aunt had secretly sent on to Ann Veronica some new warm underclothing, a dozen pairs of stockings, and her last winter’s jacket, but the dear lady had overlooked those boots. Keeping hold of the doorhandle, she turned slowly.
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