Anna watched her from the windows, watched the carriage jolt away along the cobbled street and disappear. He stood there, large and dark, enunciating, in his clear voice from beneath his large mustache, clear flat sentences, deliberately kindly. “It’s bound to be all right,” she said. You go home and wait a century, Vee, and then try again. They were both conscious, however, that something had intervened between them.
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