Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. I am tired, and I want to be alone. She gaped at its keep, at least ten feet tall, a frightening gray coffin turned upright. She was not quite clear how she should find it, but she felt she would. But it annoyed Ann Veronica. Those who had seen him slumbering, averred that he slept with his eyes open.
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