"But she is a dear," said Angelina, timidly. The Night-Cellar XVIII. ‘Why, that’s it. “And think, think”—her voice sank —“of the horrible coarseness!” “What coarseness?” said Ann Veronica. . Oh, the scent of the flowers that day, the delicious quiet, the swallows that dived before us in the river. “Please forgive me, Lucy.
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