She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. I’m a soldier, you see. But why do you ask?" "Because—" stammered the boy. How do you like the story?” “Go on,” said Ann Veronica, a little hoarsely, “tell me all of it. It was as if her aesthetic sense had become inflamed.
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