Part 2 Ann Veronica Stanley was twenty-one and a half years old. He’s riding down the drive. Of course, at home there would have been questions. Wood. They walked across a moat of pea gravel that crunched like noisy cereal under their feet. She felt anger at Sebastian, anger at the thrill that she felt in her loins upon seeing him, anger at herself for never having the courage to end her own life. Your own safety—the child's safety—depends upon your candour. The world isn't real yet; she hasn't comparisons by which to govern her acts.
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