“You understand, then,” he was saying, “you understand?” “I understand,” said Ann Veronica, tear-wet and flushed with a reciprocal passion, but standing up to him with an equality that amazed even herself, “I understand. ‘You said it. It’s just that I want to say. ‘Aye, miss, like a shadow. She opened it and imbibed. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron.
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