They agreed to lend her their hold-all and a large, formless bag which they called the communal trunk. She was too late. The piece, in three movements, was short enough anyway. Neither father, aunt, nor brothers made a sign, and then one afternoon in early February her aunt came up in a state between expostulation and dignified resentment, but obviously very anxious for Ann Veronica’s welfare. I had dreamt of the olive grove beyond the courtyard I had once been fascinated 198 with as a boy.
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