" The Wastrel laughed. ‘It does not matter, Jacques. You’re a piss-poor liar, John. “We are not the sort that goes under,” said Ann Veronica, holding her hands so that the red reflections vanished from her eyes. "Perhaps things would have been different if she had lived. He accepted the glass of wine, and bowed. “Veronique!” she cried with a rising intonation, though never before had she called Ann Veronica anything but Miss Stanley, and seized her and squeezed her and kissed her with profound emotion.
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