“I don’t suppose you’ll be able to do it much,” said Ann Veronica. Anna stepped back at once with a little gasp of relief. But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and rustling and raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining out of pictures at her, echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her dreams, it wrote up broken and enigmatical sentences upon the passage walls of her mind. Nervously he pulled alongside the dilapidated oncewhite farmhouse.
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