Her faith in human beings revived. “Then I don’t take this as final. “We are not the sort that goes under,” said Ann Veronica, holding her hands so that the red reflections vanished from her eyes. Somehow to-night—I don’t know. Occasionally the mere fact of lying in bed became unendurable, and she rolled out and marched about her room and whispered abuse of herself—usually until she hit against some article of furniture. "I've said it," rejoined Jonathan, peremptorily. We’ll find a way to survive.
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