I was the last on board. “Hello, Teddy!” she answered. ‘To begin with,’ he said, ‘allow me a very tiny intimacy. Five minutes ago, his butler had entered the green saloon, an austere apartment, with dark forest-green wallpaper flocked with a swirling design, and heavy mahogany furniture. Well, I don’t think that’s fair. Ann Veronica snatched at the opportunity, and spent most of the intervening time in the Assyrian Court of the British Museum, reading and thinking over a little book upon the feminist movement the tired woman had made her buy. I have often felt before that it is only when one has nothing to say that one can write easy poetry. The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava.
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