The house was redolent with the smells of cinnamon baking and the stuffed turkey and marinated pork roast. He opened the door for her with a faint disagreeable smile. And they could talk, they found; and never once, it seemed, did their meaning and intention hitch. He fancied that when they had had time to reflect, they would regret it still more. The very old lady in the antimacassar touched Ann Veronica’s arm suddenly, and said, in a deep, arch voice: “Talking of love again; spring again, love again.
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