She did not think Ann Veronica would do as her companion. I am a man—of a sort of experience. When she reflected that Mr. All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. Ann Veronica had had some training at the Tredgold College in disentangling threads from confused statements, and she had a curious persuasion that in all this fluent muddle there was something—something real, something that signified.
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