“What do we want? What is the goal?” asked Ann Veronica. A spot of colour, brighter than any rouge, burned on her cheeks. He sat down. “You are very kind,” she said hesitatingly, “but I don’t remember—I don’t think that I know you, do I?” “I am afraid that you do not,” he admitted, with a smile which he meant to be encouraging. I have had my day; and there were women in it. “Can’t you believe me? I am Meysey Hill.
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