She obeyed, extending her arm. “This is MY thing,” said Ann Veronica, softly, with thoughtful eyes upon him. It had thrust her back with an undignified scuffle, with vulgar comedy, with an unendurable, scornful grin. Don’t imagine that. She came to her one day and pulled on her apron. Do you think that it makes for happiness to force oneself into the extravagant belief that love is the only thing in the world worth having, and to sacrifice for it independence, self-respect, one’s whole scheme of life.
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