The blow had brought him back to the realm of sober thought. After a while one began to talk. She was greatly exercised by the problem of confiding in the Widgetts; they were dears, and she talked away two evenings with Constance without broaching the topic; she made some vague intimations in letters to Miss Miniver that Miss Miniver failed to mark. Ann Veronica had had some training at the Tredgold College in disentangling threads from confused statements, and she had a curious persuasion that in all this fluent muddle there was something—something real, something that signified. Ramage did not know. ‘Oh, we was always in there, miss,’ admitted Joan, moving closer. “You must have heard—have you—oh, tell me, won’t you?” she begged.
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