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They seemed the most wrapped things in all Ann Veronica’s wrappered world. In spite of God and wasps and her father, she had stolen plums; and once because of discovered misdeeds, and once because she had realized that her mother was dead, she had lain on her face in the unmown grass, beneath the elmtrees that came beyond the vegetables, and poured out her soul in weeping. And now I find, when it is too late, that I might have deserved you—that I am as well born as Thames Darrell. She counted three on the way to the train and four more on the crowded car that would have gladly taken him to bed with not so much as a word. “I knew Mr. Wood's, the carpenter in Wych Street. She was powerless to move from her chair. ’ She dropped to her knees before her old nurse and hugged the workroughened hand with both her own, looking up into Martha’s face where slow tears were tracing down her cheek.
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