The life of a girl presented itself to her as something happy and heedless and unthinking, yet really guided and controlled by others, and going on amidst unsuspected screens and concealments. This forthright dame was so excited, she could not keep still, but paced about the parlour much as Melusine had done earlier. Beneath the serene unconcern of Ann Veronica’s face was a boiling tumult. "I can't hold it much longer—it'll break my wrist. She had suddenly become as the jewels of the Madonna, as the idol's eye, infinitely beyond his reach, sacred.
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