‘Laisse-moi,’ she threw at him, her brief attack of sobs already ended, although the trace of tears on her cheeks bore witness to its sincerity. Ruth sighed; Spurlock stood up and drew his hand across his forehead as if awakening from a dream. It was, Ann Veronica felt, as a sip or so of that remarkable blend warmed her blood, just the sort of thing that her aunt would not approve, to be lunching thus, tete-a-tete with a man; and yet at the same time it was a perfectly innocent as well as agreeable proceeding. So he liked to go by a different train. What Miss Miniver would have called the Higher Truth supervenes. She swallowed hard.
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