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Updated: June 18, 2025
Dear and garrulous Lady Verity-Stewart had given him at dinner the whole family history she herself was a Dayne from the time of Henry I. I was sitting on the other side of her and heard and amused myself by scanning the expressionless face of Lackaday who listened as a strayed aviator might listen to the social gossip of the inhabitants of Mars.
Suppose she did stand for Parliament, and got in for a safe Conservative constituency. What would happen? She would be swept in to the muddiest and most soul-destroying game on God's earth. No, my dear friends, no. No politics for her. Well, what then? we asked. "Didn't you say something about what was it, dear Borneo?" asked Lady Verity-Stewart.
Before I could have a private word with Lady Auriol, whom I found as my fellow-guest, Evadne, as soon as she had finished an impatient though not unsubstantial tea, hurried me out into the garden. There were two litters of Sealyhams. Lady Verity-Stewart protested mildly. "Uncle Anthony doesn't want to see puppies."
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