“Odd little room,” said Ann Veronica, dimly apprehending that obtrusive sofa. Her cheeks seemed to burn, her veins ran riot, and her heart was beating so fast that she was sure he must feel it through his scarlet coat. “Don’t worry, Julian. Nigel Ennison was he. The air might be cool, but half an hour without head-gear was an invitation to sunstroke.
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