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. It did not cheer or fortify him with false courage and recklessness; it simply enveloped him in a mist of unreality. But it was not so ordered. "Jack!" she cried, raising her head. He rested on one elbow. She had never seen her sitting on tables nor heard her discussing theology, and had failed to observe that the graceful figure was a natural one and not due to ably chosen stays. Anna admitted the fact.
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