She inhaled a deep breath of air—London air. But a woman’s life is all chance. His eyes were small and grey; as far apart and as sly-looking as those of a fox. ’ Hilary stared at him. She spoke slowly. McClintock liked it. The natural gaiety of the place seemed to have affected them both. Even our coarseness. He returned, blue towel in hand. He loved Ann Veronica, he said; he was so mad to have her that he defeated himself, and did crude and alarming and senseless things.
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