He had not addressed to her even the most ordinary courtesy of fellow travellers; she doubted that he was even aware of her existence. Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. Perhaps she might never come back to that breakfast-room again. These petals! I’ve been wanting to cry all the evening, cry here on your shoulder for my petals.
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