” “I have heard of the Fabians,” said Ann Veronica. The evenings were dulcet and soft. The moisture from the sea was constant, and she spent countless hours staring at the sea from the west tower, the rise and fall of waves. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. Even that he was an interfering person, if he walked through that door this moment, she would fling herself at him and weep all over his chest. Her thought spoke aloud.
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