"That's for Winifred," vociferated the Amazon, bringing the cudgel heavily upon his shoulder. Then, very awkwardly, he took a stool and placed it at the end of Ann Veronica’s table, and sat down. Her pat answer to all inquiries was, “I let my sister Shari make me over,” while she kept from staring at her own reflection in the shiny shoes past her bare knees. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn.
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