It looked very patient, she thought, and a little self-satisfied. It was in the quiet streets and squares toward Oxford Street that it first came into her head disagreeably that she herself was being followed. She stood up before him, smiling faintly. . It was a port of call, since fortnightly a British mail-boat dropped her mudhook in the bay. Ann Veronica snatched at the opportunity, and spent most of the intervening time in the Assyrian Court of the British Museum, reading and thinking over a little book upon the feminist movement the tired woman had made her buy. ” He said.
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