Ann Veronica decided that “hoydenish ragger” was the only phrase to express her. ‘You’ve found her out?’ ‘Tell us at once,’ urged Miss Froxfield. The Morning Post was hungry for governesses and nursery governesses, but held out no other hopes; the Daily Telegraph that morning seemed eager only for skirt hands. “Yes?” he said. This was automatically rather than thoughtfully done; habit. “I propose,” Sir John said, “that we pay for our dinner—which we haven’t had— tip the garçon a sovereign, and take a cab to the Ritz. Fifty pupils. Why not? Imagine I’ve had a fit of hysteria—and that I’ve come round. I rarely set foot in London these days. She shuddered; the room was unfamiliar and unwelcoming.
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