“But, my dear!” said Ann Veronica’s aunt. Very fascinating, though, trying to analyse the impulse. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. He's worth a dozen of you. “I am going,” she said grimly, with three hairpins in her mouth. He was evidently nervous, and very anxious to be impressive; his projecting eyes sought to dominate. ’ ‘Even that he is, one must be practical. She is your sister, and God knows I wish her none. ‘I do not believe you. It did not cheer or fortify him with false courage and recklessness; it simply enveloped him in a mist of unreality. A very small settlement, mostly natives. She wanted to think of him as her beloved person, to be near him and watch him, to have him going about, doing this and that, saying this and that, unconscious of her, while she too remained unconscious of herself.
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