. You don’t wear a dinner coat with a flower in your button-hole, or last night’s shirt, or very glossy boots, nor do you haunt the drawing-room in the evening, or play at being musical. Her eye met Miss Stanley’s understandingly, and she was if anything a trifle more affectionate in her greeting to Ann Veronica. This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s. Not a word had been exchanged between the two boys on the road. .
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