"Go!" said Lady Trafford; "it is my last request. “It’s no sort of good, Ann Veronica, pretending one does believe when one doesn’t. It was obviously pitched well, hitting her head at a good thirtyfive miles per hour. It was a mass of knick-knacks. She fell into another depression, refusing to touch Sebastian or call him husband when he demanded it. It was not due to shyness: it was the inherent instinct of the Woman, a protective fear that she must retain some elements of mystery in order to hold the interest of the male.
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