“How do you know?” “Well, it isn’t exactly a depressing state, is it?” “YOU don’t know. “Odd little room,” said Ann Veronica, dimly apprehending that obtrusive sofa. But Miss Miniver was highly unsatisfactory. The guests congregated within the night-cellar were, in fact, little better than thieves; but thieves who confined their depredations almost exclusively to the vessels lying in the pool and docks of the river. And Ann Veronica walked beside him, trying in vain to soften her heart to him by the thought of how she had ill-used him, and all the time, as her feet and mind grew weary together, rejoicing more and more that at the cost of this one interminable walk she escaped the prospect of—what was it?—“Ten thousand days, ten thousand nights” in his company.
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