There was a maiden aunt who lived in the North who might let her live there for a few weeks until she disappeared. Life! Life and love! It makes me want to be always young, always strong, always devoting my life—and dying splendidly. Even so much allusion as this to that family shadow, she felt, was an immense recognition of her ripening years. Yet he was in a state of hopeless bewilderment. "It is the fiend!" she exclaimed, recoiling. These convulsions occurred when Ann Veronica was about twelve.
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