Why ever did you let me get into that wagonette?” “I thought we had to,” said Ann Veronica, who had also been a little under the compulsion of the marshals of the occasion. That is why I came to London. He looked at his port wine as though that tawny ruby contained the solution of the matter. It was an awful moment—so awful, that every other feeling except deep interest in the scene seemed suspended. Her curiosity was insatiable, her dreams filled with happy speculation over what hair color her babies would inherit.
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