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“I don’t love him,” said Ann Veronica, getting a gleam. The study seemed absolutely unaltered, there was still the same lamp with a little chip out of the shade, still the same gas fire, still the same bundle of blue and white papers, it seemed, with the same pink tape about them, at the elbow of the arm-chair, still the same father. Her brother Roddy, who was in the motor line, came to expostulate; her sister Alice wrote. “My dear,” she said, when she could get her breath, “you must come home at once. ” “Delusion!” he muttered, glaring at her. She would marry him.
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