Here, it might be anything at all. I believe that her ladyship is going to Carey House, and on to the Marquis of Waterford’s ball,” he added, hastily consulting a diary on the hall table. "What proof have you of the truth of this story?" inquired Trenchard. Presently her aunt sighed deeply and looked at the clock. He let go of the girl’s arm. He touched a long-standing sore, and Ann Veronica found herself vainly trying to explain—the inexplicable. To wait for hours and hours for the night! The sea empty for days! You forgot the monotony, the endless monotony, that bends you and breaks you and crushes you—you forgot that!" Her voice had steadily risen until it was charged with passionate anger.
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