Twenty-one, twenty-two. None of the things they said and did were altogether new to Ann Veronica, but now she got them massed and alive, instead of by glimpses or in books—alive and articulate and insistent. She was dressed as English girls do dress for town, without either coquetry or harshness: her collarless blouse confessed a pretty neck, her eyes were bright and steady, and her dark hair waved loosely and graciously over her ears. But the sheer immensity of the tract! James Boyle was certainly up against it, hard. And, if I'd my own way with the Secretary of State, he never should.
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