They were in many respects so right; she clung to that, and shirked more and more the paradoxical conviction that they were also somehow, and even in direct relation to that rightness, absurd. Her aunt went off at a tangent. “And to-night we are friends?” “We are friends,” said Ann Veronica, and drew her hand quickly away from him. Her features were still slightly marked by the disorder alluded to in the description of her as a child,—but that was the only drawback to her beauty.
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