’ Lucilla Froxfield laughed gaily. He might go on as the devoted lover until he tired. Ann Veronica had had some training at the Tredgold College in disentangling threads from confused statements, and she had a curious persuasion that in all this fluent muddle there was something—something real, something that signified. She was standing before a window, against the background of the rain-burdened April sky. "I couldn't bear to see you in it. I won’t try.
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