I’m not half smart enough for the West End. Mirages, over which he was constantly throwing bridges which were wasted efforts, since invariably they spanned solid ground. 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. She began to think persistently of Capes, and it seemed to her now that for some weeks at least she must have been thinking persistently of him unawares.
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