“I don’t know. Remote little Ann Veronica! She would never know the heart of that child again! That child had loved fairy princes with velvet suits and golden locks, and she was in love with a real man named Capes, with little gleams of gold on his cheek and a pleasant voice and firm and shapely hands. I go back about once a year. And this great mellow place, this London, now was hers, to struggle with, to go where she pleased in, to overcome and live in. He stopped in mid-sentence, and Ann Veronica opened the door for her aunt.
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