These daughters! He gnawed his pen and reflected, tore the sheet up, and began again. Gods! what it must be to pour out strong, splendid verse—mighty lines! mighty lines! If I do, Ann Veronica, it will be you. Her teachers and mistresses had done their best to stamp her mind with an ineradicable persuasion that it was tremendously important, and on no account to be thought about. But as she got out of the train at Morningside Park Station she had a shock. Her pulses began to race. “But you do not know,” she whispered, “whether I am a married woman or not. I’m a female thing at bottom. ” The ants seemed to salute in attention. She sat on the edge of the bed —the wardress was too busy with the flood of arrivals that day to discover that she had it down—and her skin was shivering from the contact of these garments.
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