It was, Ann Veronica felt, as a sip or so of that remarkable blend warmed her blood, just the sort of thing that her aunt would not approve, to be lunching thus, tete-a-tete with a man; and yet at the same time it was a perfectly innocent as well as agreeable proceeding. It had been easy to steal. For a time she promenaded the room. “Nor am I going to,” she answered, smiling. She smiled mechanically at the audience, holding her violin limply, feeling the hot lights on her made-up face.
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