She decided to go out into the London afternoon again and get something to eat in an Aerated Bread shop or some such place, and perhaps find a cheap room for herself. In a moment or two, Madame Valade recovered her sangfroid. Instinctively she had fallen into the posture of the poster, her hands behind her, her head bent slightly forward, her chin uplifted, her eyes bright with the drollery of the song. “For instance?” She smiled. Ann Veronica said nothing.
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