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I had dreamt of the olive grove beyond the courtyard I had once been fascinated 198 with as a boy. “And think, think”—her voice sank —“of the horrible coarseness!” “What coarseness?” said Ann Veronica. We can love on a snow cornice, we can love over a pail of whitewash. ’ ‘Yes, that is what he said,’ agreed Melusine, pleased to find him of so ready an understanding. She did not know herself. ’ He regarded her thoughtfully.
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