To him she had always appeared as a mere pleasure-loving parasite—something quite insignificant. Forgive me. Sheila was a stout woman, her bosoms huge, her face 110 wide and square. And at last Ann Veronica and Miss Miniver came down the dark staircase and out into the foggy spaces of the London squares, and crossed Russell Square, Woburn Square, Gordon Square, making an oblique route to Ann Veronica’s lodging. Ann Veronica blushed. To even presume a lustful thought about her was to ask for one’s own death.
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