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WHEN PRISCILLA CROSKELL married Brough Sowerby, her younger friends said, " What a pity: he's too old for her": her older friends said, " Sensible girl— and isn't she lucky." Priscilla was nearing her thirtieth birthday when she got married and Dr. Sowerby was forty-eight: she was very much in love with him; (and not alone in that: all Brough's women patients adored him,) he was well-off, well established as a London consultant and he was able to give Priscilla the sort of home she had always wanted. As a successful journalist and hopeful novelist, Priscilla had had a very charming flat of her own, but her husband's house just off Harley Street had a spaciousness and " period quality " which eliminated any regrets she had over leaving her own flat. Priscilla still looked very young: her extreme fairness and untroubled blue eyes might have suggested she was still under twenty-five, but she was a shrewd young woman and she knew that thirty was a milestone.
"Time to settle down: I'm not really the career-woman type," she told her mother. " There's something about having a husband who can foot the bills— and Brough's terribly nice to go around with: then I've known him quite a time and I feel he's liveable-with, equable and reliable."
They had had a quiet wedding and had then gone off to Austria for a fortnight's ski-ing, a sport in which both delighted. Returning to London in the sunny days
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