“Veronique!” she cried with a rising intonation, though never before had she called Ann Veronica anything but Miss Stanley, and seized her and squeezed her and kissed her with profound emotion. A creature of convenience, she could have cared less if her children were carried away by drunkards on the street. A mate? A brother-lover to tromp about the world with? “I cannot. E. You’re all such good cooks.
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