You know—I wish I could roll my little body up small and squeeze it into your hand and grip your fingers upon it. ” “Couldn’t I make a treaty?” Ann Veronica thought, and could not see any possible treaty that would leave it open for her to have quasi-surreptitious dinners with Ramage or go on walking round the London squares discussing Socialism with Miss Miniver toward the small hours. It was Ramage, the occupant of the big house at the end of the Avenue.
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