Ann Veronica had had some training at the Tredgold College in disentangling threads from confused statements, and she had a curious persuasion that in all this fluent muddle there was something—something real, something that signified. Ramage, that iron-gray man of the world, appeared dressed in a bowler hat and a suit of hard gray, astride of a black horse. "I don't understand you, gentlemen," stammered he, at length. I thought I'd been sufficiently explicit," continued Jonathan. “But we satisfy one another. She didn’t choose her man. In Singapore that had been her only dissipation: a dozen pairs of silk stockings. She missed them already. Then she went in and up-stairs, hesitated on the landing, and finally, a little breathless and with an air of great dignity, opened the door and walked into Ann Veronica’s room.
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