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The only mercy you can show me is to kill me. ” “That’s the comfort of you. What a pity! For all her ignorance of material things—the human inventions which served the physical comforts of man—how much she knew about man himself! She had seen him bereft of all those spiritual props which permit man to walk on two feet instead of four—broken, without resilience. ” Ann Veronica said nothing, and Miss Klegg went on: “He very often IS— most unfair. We tolerate you for your genius, that's a fact. Do you think it’s nothing to me to have my daughter running about London looking for odd jobs and disgracing herself?” “Sha’n’t get odd jobs,” said Ann Veronica, wiping her eyes. Each manuscript was like the other: the same lovely treatment of an unlovely subject.
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