” “Couldn’t I make a treaty?” Ann Veronica thought, and could not see any possible treaty that would leave it open for her to have quasi-surreptitious dinners with Ramage or go on walking round the London squares discussing Socialism with Miss Miniver toward the small hours. “Who can tell?” she said. She stood face to face with him, and his voice cut across her speech and made her stop abruptly. But it's confounded inconvenient.
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