Part 5 Yet Ann Veronica was thinking a very great deal about love. For I still love her mother. Her eyebrows were lifted in expostulation. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. “I don’t care a rap for remembering. After what seemed like an eternity he turned right onto a dirt road that ended unceremoniously at a copse of leafless trees.
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