Michelle pulled a Kleenex out of a Pocket Pack and blew her nose. His most eager inquiries and most lavish bribes could gain no further information than that she had left for England, and that her address was—London. Ann Veronica thought the whole affair rather jolly. She lingered over donning her winter coat, buttoning each toggle and placket, double knotting her long scarf. And at the thought of that other lover—he was convinced that that beloved person was a lover, and she found herself unable to say a word to explain to him that this other person, the person she loved, did not even know of her love—Ramage grew angry and savage once more, and returned suddenly to gibe and insult. “Homely?” “Well, yeah, that’s what he said. And son of a pig,’ she grunted, baring her teeth.
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