His brows drew a little nearer together. For four hours he had shifted his own troubles to the shoulders of these imaginative characters. Anna rummaged about in her dressingcase, and finally drew out a letter. She thought of him as always courteous and helpful, as realizing, indeed, his ideal of protection and service, as chivalrously leaving her free to live her own life, rejoicing with an infinite generosity in every detail of her irresponsive being. “I’m just off, aunt,” said Ann Veronica.
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