I don’t idealize you. I wonder, Ann Veronica, if, when our time comes, we shall be any wiser?” Ann Veronica watched a water-beetle fussing across the green depths. "My own father!" Queerly the room and its objects receded and vanished; and there intervened a series of mental pictures that so long as she lived would ever be recurring. “You’re not a man for me—not one of a sex, I mean. Why not? Were not his own sentiments inclined in favour of the patient? But fifty gold was fifty gold.
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