Each one had been different from the others, each had had a quality all its own, a distinctive freshness, a distinctive beauty. She saw her aunt in tears, her father white-faced and hard hit. “Have some more port wine, sir?” “It’s a very sound wine,” said Mr. Shari entered the room in a damp towel, fresh from the shower. Marry, come up! I'm not so easily deluded. Ann Veronica’s experiences of men had been among more stable types—Teddy, who was always absurd; her father, who was always authoritative and sentimental; Manning, who was always Manning.
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