Ann Veronica’s experiences of men had been among more stable types—Teddy, who was always absurd; her father, who was always authoritative and sentimental; Manning, who was always Manning. There were perches inside where she could crouch and labyrinths underneath where she could hide. Anna, who had sung the first verse of her song, looked around the house, a little surprised at the absence of the applause which had never yet failed her. ’ ‘As a matter of fact, it isn’t,’ conceded Gerald.
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