“I shall never marry,” said Ann Veronica, resolutely; “I’m not the sort. The call of youth to youth, and we name it love for want of something better: a glamorous, evanescent thing "like snow upon the desert's dusty face, lighting a little hour or two, was gone. At the back of her mind, dim and yet disconcerting, was the perception that she herself did not know what she wanted. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory. The Disguise.
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