I am something of an old fogey, Anna, I’m afraid, but if you treat me like this you will teach me to forget it. " "Anything, my dear," replied Wood, "What is it?" "Bury us together in one grave in Willesden churchyard. Ann Veronica watched her face, vaguely sympathizing with her, vaguely disliking her physical insufficiency and her convulsive movements, and the fine eyebrows were knit with a faint perplexity. He did not know—and probably never would unless she told him—that it was very easy (and comfortable for a woman) to fall into slatternly ways in this latitude. The fanatic has no such word in his vocabulary.
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