Ann Veronica had a number of fragmentary impressions of Alice strangely transfigured in bridal raiment. ‘The old man who lives here, idiot. ” Anna looked for a moment steadily at her sister, whose face was still averted. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. Apparently I’m not to exist yet.
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