“Go to London,” said Ann Veronica. She felt terrible lying to him. A tarnish of constraint that had recently spread over her intercourse with Capes vanished again. ’ ‘About me?’ The lady’s lashes fluttered and her fan came up. It reminded her viscerally of her subhuman status, stripped away of the pretenses of art, intellect, and nicety. “I should like you to come here,” she said. “But your sister?” he asked.
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