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Anna leaned back with half closed eyes. Perhaps at the first blush—it strikes you as odd. It drives one mad at times. He knew me, Nigel. She was practicing with them on that very day, and displaced a rather mediocre boy violinist who claimed “to be better at the viola anyway” as first chair. “Come, daddy,” said Ann Veronica, following her husband and Miss Stanley; and in the fulness of her heart she gave a friendly squeeze to the parental arm.
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