“Veronique!” she cried with a rising intonation, though never before had she called Ann Veronica anything but Miss Stanley, and seized her and squeezed her and kissed her with profound emotion. Paris looms behind—a tragedy of strange recollections—here she emerges Phœnix-like, subtly developed, a flawless woman, beautiful, self-reliant, witty, a woman with the strange gift of making all others beside her seem plain or vulgar. ‘The sisters here will not save you. She took it for granted Ann Veronica wore stays—mild stays, perhaps, but stays, and thought no more of the matter. While this was passing, Jonathan opened one of the upper windows, and fired several shots upon the assailants. But I see now. There is a new life, different from the old life of dependence, possible.
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