Wood had been my father, as well as yours. “Why do you hate me again, my love?” He seemed to brighten, feeding upon the intensity of her emotion. His gray eyes were closed, his persimmon-colored lips open and panting. His eyes closed. “Who, me? I scare you?” He asked. “Marriage and mothering,” said Ann Veronica, with her mind crystallizing out again as the lark dropped to the nest in the turf. But I'm not worrying about that.
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