But Miss Stanley took no notice of these things. One transgression; he was sure of that. As he lay on his back, he fancied himself gradually slipping off the platform. “I think,” he said, “that I am right. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. I couldn't accept anything from you. Of the vast mass of these impressions Ann Veronica could make nothing at the time; there they were—Fact! She stored them away in a mind naturally retentive, as a squirrel stores away nuts, for further digestion.
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