That’s— that’s my private life. One Friday afternoon, in this pleasant month, it chanced that Mr. And at last Ann Veronica and Miss Miniver came down the dark staircase and out into the foggy spaces of the London squares, and crossed Russell Square, Woburn Square, Gordon Square, making an oblique route to Ann Veronica’s lodging. '" "'This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be; Home is the sailor, home from the sea. White?” she asked, laughing.
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