“For seven years,” said Ann Veronica, “I have been trying to keep myself from thinking about love. A young man with shiny frock coat and very high collar, advanced towards her languidly. These realizations rushed into Ann Veronica’s mind and hardened her heart against him. The very carts and vans and cabs that Wellington Street poured out incessantly upon the bridge seemed ripe and good in her eyes. He may die. Sheppard broke from him, and filled the room with her shrieks. It had been a trying day. He blushed furiously; it was not what he had expected to hear.
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