By the time she arrived at the Beck’s doorstep, the morning was risen. I really cannot have anything to do with Mr. He buys his own clothes, chooses his own company, makes his own way of living. “You understand, then,” he was saying, “you understand?” “I understand,” said Ann Veronica, tear-wet and flushed with a reciprocal passion, but standing up to him with an equality that amazed even herself, “I understand.
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