Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. All through that brief but measureless space of time during which wonder kept him silent, as fear did her, she cowered there, a limp helpless object. “I hope you realize,” he went on, in a lower and less assured tone, “that I am in earnest—very much in earnest. " "Lord, that's just the lesson I've been expounding! It isn't a question of fear; it's one of propriety.
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