As she talked, the drift and significance of what she was saying shaped itself slowly to Ann Veronica’s apprehension. "But don't wait for me, Sir Cecil. Believe me, the bitterness of it has almost departed, crushed out of me together with much of the weariness and sorrow I brought with me here by the nameless glory of these lonely months. ‘I’m only a poor country wench, child. She recalled how she had stretched out her arms toward the magic blue horizon. .
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