She had found it in 1988, the year of the stock market crash. “Dear old daddy!” she said, and was amazed to find herself shedding tears. Loneliness—something that was almost physical: as if the vitality had been taken out of the air she breathed. “When we go indoors I will show you the offers I have refused,” she answered. I have made up my mind to insist upon moving from here into Park Lane, or one of the Squares. It was just then that she came face to face with Nigel Ennison. Lonesomeness isn't my worry. She looked stealthily at Anna.
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