His glasses were gone. It was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections. ‘Come, cry a truce. ” They talked for a while in somewhat dreamy fashion, Anna especially being more silent than usual. Its heroes never had daughters, they borrowed other people’s. “Only it is much too late for you to be out alone. Ann Veronica brought her luggage in a cab from the hotel; she tipped the hotel porter sixpence and overpaid the cabman eighteenpence, unpacked some of her books and possessions, and so made the room a little homelike, and then sat down in a by no means uncomfortable arm-chair before the fire. “It is part of the irony of life,” he said.
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