Before a year has expired, you will share the same fate. “Yes,” said Ann Veronica, trying to think where they were, trying to get things plain again that had seemed plain enough in the quiet of the night. Coffee à la Turque wasn't so bad; but a guy couldn't soak his breakfast toast in it. She got up, drew up her blind, and stared out of window at a dawn-cold vision of chimneys for a time, and then went and sat on the edge of her bed. Straitened circumstances would not have mattered; a mother would have managed somehow.
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