She is your sister, and God knows I wish her none. Ann Veronica decided that “hoydenish ragger” was the only phrase to express her. “There’s the classes,” said Constance, the well-informed. It was not in evidence here, not a sign of it. To walk beside him, dressed akin to him, rucksacked and companionable, was bliss in itself; each step she took was like stepping once more across the threshold of heaven.
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