He dressed rather after the fashion of the West End than the City, and affected a cultured urbanity that somehow disconcerted and always annoyed Ann Veronica’s father extremely. She launched into a stuffy Partita 89 and played it too fast. And here he was, but a hundred yards away, this wastrel who trailed his genius through the mud. You can’t! I tell you frankly you may break off your engagement to me—I shall hold myself still engaged to you, yours just the same. He cocked an eyebrow. Her heavy pistol came up again, although she did not rise. It was no marriage at all. But she must not laugh. The Iron Bar 397 XVIII. You are infatuated.
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