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The joy of being loved thrilled her as nothing before had ever done, a curious abstract joy which had nothing in it at that moment of regret or even pity. “I’m ready,” said Ann Veronica, closing her microscope-box with a click, and looking for one brief instant up the laboratory. She had begun to care about her appearance again, looking into the glass he gave her, a thing nearly priceless that was bordered in intricate golden filigree and rubies. I sat within a few feet of him. But we can’t help noticing. Part of his head was swathed in linen bandages. Only he hated the words he uttered, hated the blunt honesty which forced them from his lips. No one had lived here since old man Remenham had died some eighteen months ago, for the heir, so it was rumoured, was a relative with property of his own. I hope—I am sure that he did not see me. And empty.
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