Ann Veronica found herself walking back down the Avenue that had just been the scene of her first proposal beside her aunt, and speculating for the first time in her life about that lady’s mental attitudes. “I’m sorry! Mary! Are you hurt?” “No. Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. “There is my aunt,” she said. There was no past, no future, only this exhilarating present.
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