She recalled how she had stretched out her arms toward the magic blue horizon. “A new admirer, Annabel? But what has that to do with your going to England?”
“Everything! He is Sir John Ferringhall—very stupid, very respectable, very
egotistical. Are you going to have any apple-tart,
Stanley? The apple-tart’s been very good lately—very good!”
Part 7
At the end of dinner that evening Ann Veronica began: “Father!”
Her father looked at her over his glasses and spoke with grave deliberation;
“If there is anything you want to say to me,” he said, “you must say it in the
study. She dared not say the word
aloud, not even to herself. This way, my dear—and—
you’ll excuse my mentioning it, but a quiet blouse and a little chiffon, you know,
will be quite sufficient. ‘Give me that!’
He took his finger away from her neck and made a grab at the handkerchief. When the
prisoner was removed from the dock, we met Jonathan as we passed through the
yard. She gazed steadily out of the window at that arc of glittering
lights. She was at the end of girlhood and on the eve of a
woman’s crowning experience. She wanted to
take him in her arms and hush him, but she sat perfectly still. It was
very pretty and very dainty while it lasted, but we played it with our eyes open,
and we perfectly understood the game—both of us. Ann Veronica sat
back with a sigh of relief. ‘Hilary, you must stop referring to
mademoiselle as “she”. ”
Sir John coughed.
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This video was uploaded to m.damaulifm.org on 01-07-2024 16:28:06