Yet there was nothing for her to do. She had no idea what she should do. It’s a mismatch. So presently they got into a hansom together, and Ann Veronica sat back feeling very luxurious and pleasant, and looked at the light and stir and misty glitter of the street traffic from under slightly drooping eyelids, while Ramage sat closer to her than he need have done, and glanced ever and again at her face, and made to speak and said nothing. But I mustn't think of these things, or I shall grow mad.
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