" She rose. ” “Auntie?” asked Constance, who was conversant with Ann Veronica’s affairs. “It couldn’t be. He sent a speculative glance at the immobile yellow face. He drew her away from this thought. She went to the basement and shed her sodden coat and scarf, tossing them into her favorite modern appliance, the electric dryer. The skipper obeyed, and in another moment, they swept through the narrow lock. “And aren’t there fees to pay at the Imperial College?” her aunt was saying—a disagreeable question.
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