She felt herself falling, her bile rising in her 61 throat, the cold wind spinning around her like vertigo. Her father and her husband, who had both been a little pale at their first encounter, were growing now just faintly flushed. As they passed beneath the thick trees that shade the road to Dollis Hill, the gloom was almost impenetrable. It could not be she who had done this. The question ceased to be a tea-table talk, and became suddenly tragically real for Ann Veronica.
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