"My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. She was dressed in one of those complicated dresses that are all lace and work and confused patternings of black and purple and cream about the body, and she was in many ways a younger feminine version of the same theme as himself. “And to-night we are friends?” “We are friends,” said Ann Veronica, and drew her hand quickly away from him. She resolved to walk across the Park to the Zoological gardens, and so on by way of Primrose Hill to Hampstead Heath. But this is like—like walking round a house that looks square and complete and finding an unexpected long wing running out behind.
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