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. It was he who saw them first coming down the room—Annabel in a wonderful white satin gown in front, and Sir John stiff, unbending, disapproving, bringing up the rear. A dozen words, and he saw Enschede as clearly as though he stood hard by in the flesh. Wood with the circumstances, and putting him upon his guard against the possibility of an attack. Everything goes—the copra for oil, the fibre of the husk for rope, and the shell for carbon. It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at Morningside Park. There were all varieties of bird-life known in these latitudes, from the bird of paradise down to the tiny scarlet-beaked love-birds. The meat was coarse and disagreeably served. She began to look for beauty and discover it in unexpected aspects and places. . " "Good enough for me.
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