That was an admission all right. Ann Veronica found herself in a little stirring crowd of excited women, whispering and tittering and speaking in undertones. "I didn't imagine for a moment that you'd accept it, but I thought it right to make you the offer. Then they deliberated whether Bernard Shaw ought to go into Parliament. Manning?” she asked. When she judged that she must be nearly back at the library, she began to feel somewhat dispirited. “It—it—must come,” she faltered. “Really,” she said. Nothing to do; nothing for the hands, the mind, the heart. They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times.
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