She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear. It was now getting dusk, and he could only imperfectly distinguish the features and figure of the stranger. “There’s no end of things I’d like to talk over with you. He had not addressed to her even the most ordinary courtesy of fellow travellers; she doubted that he was even aware of her existence. ” “Yes,” said Ann Veronica.
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