She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. When Ann Veronica got it she had at first a wild, fantastic idea that it contained a tip. "Stow it, Nab!" exclaimed Quilt, angrily; "the kinchen's awake. ‘How do you know?’ ‘Exactly,’ pounced Roding bitterly.
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