“Loneliness,” she said, “is a luxury which I never permit myself. She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle. ” “I wish,” said Ann Veronica, with sudden anger, “that you could know what it is to live in a pit!” She stood up as she spoke, and put down her cup beside Miss Garvice’s. It’s odd how little I know of him, and of how he feels and what he feels.
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