And at last Ann Veronica and Miss Miniver came down the dark staircase and out into the foggy spaces of the London squares, and crossed Russell Square, Woburn Square, Gordon Square, making an oblique route to Ann Veronica’s lodging. I hate children. My reception at West Kensington you know of. She guarded her mother, or at least she had liked to think so. It's never a bad day that has a good ending. Nothing else so quickly establishes the condition of comradeship as the sharing of a laughable incident.
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