Clotilde announced that she would not be back and she was taking Fritz and Anna forever. She did not try to approach him. Wearied at length with thinking on the past, and terrified by the prospect of the future, he threw himself on the straw with which the cage was littered, and endeavoured to compose himself to slumber. “There’s another instinct, too,” he went on, “in a state of suppression, unless I’m very much mistaken; a child-expelling instinct. Jiggle-joggle, jiggle-joggle…! For each pause she was grateful. “Lucy, you have to play for us after dinner, oh please. He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. I spent many happy days there. And Ann Veronica walked beside him, trying in vain to soften her heart to him by the thought of how she had ill-used him, and all the time, as her feet and mind grew weary together, rejoicing more and more that at the cost of this one interminable walk she escaped the prospect of—what was it?—“Ten thousand days, ten thousand nights” in his company.
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