“But, my dear!” said Ann Veronica’s aunt. Her mind had been and was full of the thought of Capes, a huge generalized Capes-lover. Maggot. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, after a long interval, “if they are absurd. Then suddenly with a rush came reality, came “growing up”; a hasty imperative appeal for seriousness, for supreme seriousness. By George, I forgot! McClintock said there was a typewriter in the office and that I could have it.
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