Ann Veronica sat firelit by her tea-tray with, quite unconsciously, the air of an expert hostess. Sheppard in a troubled voice, "that if I lost my child, I should lose all I have left in the world. The act was mechanical, a bit of sparring for time: his anger was searching about for a new vent. The sun shined weakly through brief pinpricks 90 in the thick cloud cover, the weather was brewing a storm.
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