How fortunate that she recognises the resemblance. I’ll pay it. Edgeworth Bess and Poll Maggot are dying to see you. She followed the landlady half way up-stairs, and called up to Ann Veronica, “May I come up? It’s me! You know—Nettie Miniver!” She appeared before Ann Veronica could clearly recall who Nettie Miniver might be. Toys! Delicate trifles! A sex of invalids. As for this infatuation—it’s like some obsession, some magic thing laid upon you.
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