What gave the puzzling twist to an ordinary situation was her manner: she was guileless. “There is my aunt,” she said. The less said, therefore, on this point the better; because, as nothing is to be gained by it, it would only be trouble thrown away. She felt that Ann Veronica had duped her in that dream, and now that she had come up to London she might as well speak her mind. There were no mourners. Wood strained his eyes to catch a glimpse of the flying skiff. “Why will you not be sensible? Go back to your old life and your old friends, and forget all about Paris and this absurd delusion of yours.
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