Then the incredible happened. “But I am your husband,” he said. Teddy Widgett hovered on the fringe of all these gatherings, blinking at Ann Veronica and occasionally making a wildly friendly dash at her, and carrying her and Miss Miniver off to drink cocoa with a choice diversity of other youthful and congenial Fabians after the meetings. ‘The man’s gone,’ her old nurse told her, when she had recovered a little. He had no ideas about daughters.
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