“It jars. Wood, terrified by the wildness of her looks. She read beautifully because the fixed form of the poem signified nothing. Then she called a hansom and drove home. How the deuce, though, am I going to account for her? People will be asking questions when they see her; and if I tell the truth, they'll start to snubbing her. It is what I have wanted, what I have meant all along. ” When the next holidays came Ann Veronica’s mother was ill, and Gwen was in the sick-room when Ann Veronica returned home. “No,” said her brother, conclusively, “it’s not for a parent to go on persuading a child. We tolerate you for your genius, that's a fact.
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