Let us walk about. Ann Veronica’s experiences of men had been among more stable types—Teddy, who was always absurd; her father, who was always authoritative and sentimental; Manning, who was always Manning. She took his hand in hers. Everybody breathed a collective sigh of relief in the neighborhood, no one wanted to see how those kids would grow up. He munched his popcorn steadily, periodically offering it to her, but not his Coke, as that would be too bold, a saliva exchange. “Perhaps for me,” she added, with a sudden wistful look out of the bare high window, “a night of beginnings.
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