Ann Veronica forgot him as soon as she was through the gate, and her face resumed its expression of stern preoccupation. “So I see that you have become content with your hardscrabble existence, your week-to-week survival, your Martin Chen!” “Who?” “Your limp-wristed lover!” “Um. Just go about with him. “If you wish,” he said, “I will go there in the morning and see what can be done for him. The road which wound by Westbourne Green, gave him a full view of the hill of Hampstead with its church, its crest of houses, and its villas peeping from out the trees.
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