Warm life was behind that always, even if it slept. The boat rocked violently with the struggle. Once a week, every Saturday, they had a little gathering from nine till the small hours, just talk and perhaps reading aloud and fruitarian refreshments—chestnut sandwiches buttered with nut tose, and so forth—and lemonade and unfermented wine; and to one of these symposia Miss Miniver after a good deal of preliminary solicitude, conducted Ann Veronica. The waterman sheltered his mouth with his hand while he spoke, or his voice would have been carried away by the violence of the blast. Mike was already on dishwasher duty when John rang the doorbell. A paralyzing horror was upon her. She had thought to wear it now, since she must look more the demoiselle. “I’d rather go as a chorus-girl,” she said. "My portrait!" echoed Jack.
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