Ann Veronica sat back in an attitude of inattention, her eyes on a distant game of cricket, her mind perplexed and busy. I owe his mother one, and will repay the debt, with interest, to her son. Stanley, produced a portrait from its hiding-place in the jewel-drawer under the mirror. All along the wooden benches before it sat a profusion of soldiery, a collection of barbers in attendance, busily employed in replaiting and powdering their hair ready for a military review scheduled for this afternoon. “Really,” she said.
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