Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. Wood in their favour. Neither father, aunt, nor brothers made a sign, and then one afternoon in early February her aunt came up in a state between expostulation and dignified resentment, but obviously very anxious for Ann Veronica’s welfare. But when she was thinking it over in her room that evening vague and baffling doubts came drifting across this conviction. Much to my amazement, as soon as I was in her presence I forgot about my magic and thought only of love.
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