Jack had been touched in the morning, but he was now completely prostrated. Her place was not filled; she had been simply noted as absent, and she did a comforting day of admirable dissection upon the tortoise. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. Manning’s feelings, and as Ann Veronica’s mind was still largely engaged with fundamentals and found no pleasure in metrical forms, she had not as yet cut its pages. And let us go on with our evening. It would be downright cruel to disillusion her.
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