‘Peste,’ she wailed, as Emile dropped to the floor, ducking down. She could think of nothing more to say. Anna came back into the sitting-room with a little sigh of relief. One cannot successfully argue with a drunken man. Ann Veronica sat back in an attitude of inattention, her eyes on a distant game of cricket, her mind perplexed and busy. Probably something he had eaten. She would compose extremely lucid and honorable explanations. ‘How she pouted, and tried to make out that she had been imposed upon. My Mom’s stomach has a lot of bad scars that make it look all ropy and weird.
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