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 had denied it with vigor, and here she was! She did not so much exhaust this general question as pass from it to her insoluble individual problem again: “What am I to do?” She wanted first of all to fling the forty pounds back into Ramage’s face. ‘It is you who is the fool,’ she threw at him, whipping round again. They sat down, McClintock reaching for a lump of sugar which he began munching. “Take off your tunic. I was at work at it yesterday and the day before. The cry was echoed by twenty different voices. “Fighting goes with loads of its own baggage, John. I can accommodate you below.
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