For a time she looked at no more apartments, and walked through gaunt and ill-cleaned streets, through the sordid under side of life, perplexed and troubled, ashamed of her previous obtuseness. Ann Veronica sat firelit by her tea-tray with, quite unconsciously, the air of an expert hostess. She must not tell Martha about Gerald. Both of them. “Sit down,” he said, and perused—“perused” is the word for it—for some moments. Occasionally he would lean back and stare at the window which gave upon the sea.
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