“It’s my fault. And it’s like the petals falling from a flower. The material cares of life hang about your neck like a millstone. “That’s all,” she said “I’m afraid I’m a little confused about these things. And as he walked by her side they began a wrangle that was none the less pleasant to Ann Veronica because it served to banish a disagreeable preoccupation. "How sweet these roses are! Shall I put them into water?" "Put them where they came from," replied Mrs. Those awful chairs!" After dinner the spinsters proceeded to inscribe their accustomed quota of postcards, and Ruth was left to herself. ‘Though we might have done, if a certain addlepated clothhead hadn’t let her get away.
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