The supreme effect for Ann Veronica was its surpassing relevance; it made every other atmosphere she knew seem discursive and confused. Every one turned to her in astonishment. She said that she couldn’t stand Mike. Bullding is going to. In spite of God and wasps and her father, she had stolen plums; and once because of discovered misdeeds, and once because she had realized that her mother was dead, she had lain on her face in the unmown grass, beneath the elmtrees that came beyond the vegetables, and poured out her soul in weeping. Of course, it was ridiculous, this inclination to assist the fugitive, based as it was upon an intangible university idea.
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