“You understand, then,” he was saying, “you understand?” “I understand,” said Ann Veronica, tear-wet and flushed with a reciprocal passion, but standing up to him with an equality that amazed even herself, “I understand. Your life is like a funeral March. “Yes. "I am glad you think that," she replied. And this great mellow place, this London, now was hers, to struggle with, to go where she pleased in, to overcome and live in. "Thank you; but I've a pocket full of water-chestnuts.
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