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It was hard to meet that gaze. For a time she promenaded the room. For a time Ann Veronica went on her way gauging the quality of sordid streets. ‘But my poor Jacques is wounded and—’ ‘All taken care of,’ interrupted Hilary. But in between these wider phases of comparative confidence were gaps of disconcerting doubt, when the universe was presented as making sinister and threatening faces at her, defying her to defy, preparing a humiliating and shameful overthrow. There was little fighting spirit here.
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