Part 2 Ann Veronica Stanley was twenty-one and a half years old. She read beautifully because the fixed form of the poem signified nothing. ’ Emile’s eyes blazed. Everything seemed designed to unhinge the mind and make the cat wretched. She got up, drew up her blind, and stared out of window at a dawn-cold vision of chimneys for a time, and then went and sat on the edge of her bed. As a matter of fact it isn’t their affair. “No, John, you won’t understand.
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