‘The wretch said nothing to anyone. “I will tell you the truth. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. For five minutes he has been trying to think of something to say. He had heard me sing—the fool thought himself in love with me. “Here goes,” he said. It is no good arguing about a thing like that. And yet for all that— It got into Ann Veronica’s nights at last and kept her awake, the perplexing contrast between the advanced thought and the advanced thinker. A tourist caravan of four pole-chairs jogged along a narrow street.
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