There was a brief pause, a crowded pause, between them. “You remember the man in Paris who used to follow me about—Meysey Hill they called him?” He nodded. It isn’t illusions—for us. Moments, indeed! We like each other fresh and fresh. And she was about as capable of intelligent argument as a runaway steam-roller. Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. I have a new cult to teach, a new enthusiasm.
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