” “Yes,” said Ann Veronica. She drifted, via Theobald’s Road, obliquely toward the region about Titchfield Street. The sunshine broke across each shoulder, one lance striking the yellow face of a Chinaman, queueless and dressed in European clothes, the other lance falling squarely upon the face of the man he had journeyed thirteen thousand miles to find. He remained standing by the stem of the proa, his glance roving investigatingly. She could not help devouring him a little with her eyes across the Burger King booth, handsome shoulders visibly solid underneath his ridiculous polo shirt, his eyes all sweetness and light.
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