The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava. She felt that Ann Veronica had duped her in that dream, and now that she had come up to London she might as well speak her mind. That wrappered life, as you call it—we’ve burned the confounded rags! Danced out of it! We’re stark!” “Stark!” echoed Ann Veronica. “Tell me,” she insisted, “why you look like that.
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