” It was, Ann Veronica felt, at once absurd and extraordinarily right. It is so that I may marry an Englishman. He hated horizons. The blood will rest on your head. I came to London to look for you, and somehow the figure I saw in my dreams had got mixed up with you. She drifted, via Theobald’s Road, obliquely toward the region about Titchfield Street.
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