"All life is a muddle, and we are all muddlers, more or less. The party resolved itself for Ann Veronica into a game in which she manoeuvred unostentatiously and finally unsuccessfully to avoid talking alone with this gentleman. . ’ ‘Gad, there is someone there,’ exclaimed Hilary beside him, shading his eyes with one hand. ’ Melusine drowned in his kiss. A white house that she often found charming loomed gray and ashen, its gardens shorn for the coming winter. Even the stars were strangers.
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