“Do you know,” she said, “that every one is remarking how ill you look. Give me your hand. “You delicate female!” “Who cares,” said Ann Veronica, “seeing it’s you? Warm, soft little wonders! Of course I want them. Why ain’t you gorn? Seems to me I had ought to arrest you. I never intended it to be anything but a short story, for I had never completed even the shortest of stories unless forced to in grammar school. .
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