It had been part of her wedding trousseau, a gift from her family to his. It seemed to her that it was her duty to get up and clamor to go home to her room, to protest against his advances as an insult. “You!” said Ann Veronica. “I don’t know,” said Ann Veronica; “I think I am. He's coming. Certainly, there wasn't a thing in the pockets. He had his sections of the Siegfried map folded in his pocket, and he squatted up with his legs crossed like an Indian idol while she lay prone beside him and followed every movement of his indicatory finger. I can’t imagine what possessed you, Veronica. That'll tune me up.
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