” “Yes. I ought to have seen—” “It doesn’t matter a rap—if you’re not disposed to resent the—the way I behaved. ‘C’est ridicule. ” For some creditable moments in her life Ann Veronica was utterly disgusted with herself; she was wrung with a passionate and belated desire to move gently, to speak softly and ambiguously—to be, in effect, prim. The manager, however, who stood in the wings, nodded to her to proceed, and the orchestra commenced the first few bars of the music.
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