Ann Veronica had had some training at the Tredgold College in disentangling threads from confused statements, and she had a curious persuasion that in all this fluent muddle there was something—something real, something that signified. Not afraid of me, either. The very carts and vans and cabs that Wellington Street poured out incessantly upon the bridge seemed ripe and good in her eyes. Who invented them? Nobody knows. “It’s magnificent!” He leaned back and regarded her with his head a little on one side. He was smiling under his heavy mustache, and his head was a little on one side as he looked at her.
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