She was making it up. I thought that he was dead. Sir Rowland Trenchard is aware of your return to England. “You poor child!” he said; “don’t you see the infinite folly of these proceedings? Think! Think of the love and affection you abandon! Think of your aunt, a second mother to you. 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. She could smell the sweet girl child he had buried in the garage in autumn, 1 even under the frozen ground. It’s a tremendous blow, of course—but it doesn’t kill me. Certain simple purposes emerged from the disingenuous muddle of her feelings and desires.
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