“My word holds,” she said. “I want my life to be beaten gold just in order to make it a fitting setting for yours. Blue haze had settled beyond the black silhouettes of trees, graduating to the deep violet that began the night sky. Then one old crone, short-sighted and shaky-handed, called Ann Veronica “dearie,” and made some remark, obscure and slangy, of which the spirit rather than the words penetrated to her understanding. It was as much as I could do to prevent him flying out of the house there and then and coming after you. “You must come and see me some afternoon,” she said to him. " "All right.
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