“My dear friend,” she laughed, “not so tragic, if you please. Then Ann Veronica passed on toward the tea in the garden, which was dotted with the elite of Morningside Park society, and there she was pounced upon by Lady Palsworthy and given tea and led about. In the twilight he had ceased to be a person one could tackle and shame; he had become something more general, a something that crawled and sneaked toward her and would not let her alone. Away off in the fields the bluesmocked peasants bent still at their toil. ‘To read and write, of course, and to sew.
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