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There were seven tales in all—short stories—a method of expression quite strange to her, after the immense canvases of Dickens and Hugo. She drifted, via Theobald’s Road, obliquely toward the region about Titchfield Street. “What have I been all this time?” she asked herself, and answered, “Just stark egotism, crude assertion of Ann Veronica, without a modest rag of religion or discipline or respect for authority to cover me!” It seemed to her as though she had at last found the touchstone of conduct. ” “You are very unbelieving,” Anna said coldly. " "That was my doing, dearest," urged the carpenter; "I was afraid if you saw her that some such scene as this might occur. " "Well, that's fine.

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