She stood up and he sat down at the microscope, and for a time he was busy scrutinizing one section after another. Ann Veronica’s experiences of men had been among more stable types—Teddy, who was always absurd; her father, who was always authoritative and sentimental; Manning, who was always Manning. She turned with an effort. She drifted, via Theobald’s Road, obliquely toward the region about Titchfield Street. Much too formal for a cosy chat between old friends. Expiation. ’ Chapter Twelve In the elegantly appointed blue saloon, Melusine sat disconsolate, gazing out of the window at the dull sky. She said as much to him. ‘The old man who lives here, idiot.
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