But she did not talk readily, and in order to say something she plunged a little, and felt she plunged. Niece and aunt regarded each other for a moment over their pockethandkerchiefs with watery but antagonistic eyes, each far too profoundly moved to see the absurdity of the position. Some one may observe us. She knew that her voice was superior to Annabel’s, and she had no further qualms. We dine at seven-thirty.
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