“My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, “you are a mere child. They did not speak until he had driven past town limits and were on the highway. “But, my dear!” said Ann Veronica’s aunt. And in those days, too, he used to help her mother with her gardening, and hover about her while she stood on the ladder and hammered creepers to the scullery wall. I just wanted a breath of air.
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