Whatever anticipation Ann Veronica had formed of this vanished in the reality. The Victorians over-did it a little, I admit. “Perhaps for me,” she added, with a sudden wistful look out of the bare high window, “a night of beginnings. Mr. You know that. “Can’t you SEE how things are?” she said. The veranda bamboo will be enough for me. “And you must please not look at me as though I were an executioner,” she declared lightly.
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