“Who can tell?” she said. Ann Veronica had had some training at the Tredgold College in disentangling threads from confused statements, and she had a curious persuasion that in all this fluent muddle there was something—something real, something that signified. "Well, good night, Mr. The office is a sight—not one sheet of paper on another; bills and receipts everywhere. Jonathan smiled contemptuously. For fifteen years!—so long as I can remember! All I wanted was a little love, a caress now and then. But she had spent nearly half of it, and had no conception of how such a sum could be made good again.
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