A bowl of roses, just brought by Ann Veronica, adorned the communal dressing-table, and Ann Veronica was particularly trim in preparation for a call she was to make with her aunt later in the afternoon. “You are making your dress?” “Such as it is. So I undertook to protect her by keeping love out of her life, by crushing it whenever it appeared, obliterating it. “Suppose you call me by my proper name,” she said quietly.
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