“Do you know,” she said, “that every one is remarking how ill you look. But suppose I go?” “Now, Veronica! No, no. ” He put his hands on her shoulders and lowered her onto the flat surface of the picnic bench. The supreme effect for Ann Veronica was its surpassing relevance; it made every other atmosphere she knew seem discursive and confused. I don’t know what has come over me. The road from Surbiton and Epsom ran under the arch, and, like a bright fungoid growth in the ditch, there was now appearing a sort of fourth estate of little redand-white rough-cast villas, with meretricious gables and very brassy windowblinds. “I remember hearing something about it. “I wonder what you could do?” he said.
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