Her aunt returned before the packing was done, and Ann Veronica lunched with an uneasy sense of bag and hold-all packed up-stairs and inadequately hidden from chance intruders by the valance of the bed. “Who are you?” She asked innocently. I—In fact, I dislike him extremely. She told the porter to take it to the booking-office, and it was only after a disconcerting moment or so that she found she ought to have directed him to go to the cloak-room. Paris, always beautiful even in the darkness, glittered away to the horizon.
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