"Surely," she said, after a pause, "you don't attach any importance to what my mother has just said. But if we had gone under—!” They regarded one another silently, and Ann Veronica had one of her penetrating flashes. The call of youth to youth, and we name it love for want of something better: a glamorous, evanescent thing "like snow upon the desert's dusty face, lighting a little hour or two, was gone. Get on with it, then. "Ah! Owen Wood, is it you?" cried David in astonishment.
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