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. She crouched beneath a stump, her extremities twitching as the sun set orange and blue beyond the lace of iron-black trees. I thank God for the beauty you love and the faults you love. Just my room. It will not cost you more than six hundred to reach your destination.
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