“We are not the sort that goes under,” said Ann Veronica, holding her hands so that the red reflections vanished from her eyes. "You two … both of you! But for you I couldn't have done it. There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. So completely! The oddest fitness! What is it made of? Texture of skin and texture of mind? Complexion and voice. “After all,” he said, “I am not sure that you are not a very material person.
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