But the clearly definite thing was the ultimate escape. Not even, it seemed, this interfering monsieur le major. “You’re Glorious!” said Miss Miniver in tones of rapture, holding a hand in each of hers and peering up into Ann Veronica’s face. She sat down awkwardly and helplessly on one of the little stools by her table and covered her face with her hands. “Go to London,” said Ann Veronica. Ann Veronica realized that she was alone with the world. You don't notice the heat; but it is always there, pressing down. The girl was pretty, and apparently a lady. He resumed his listening. Wood uttered something like an imprecation. It seemed as if all the precautions previously taken were here accumulated.
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