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“Pretend,” he said, “that all I have said hasn’t been said. She even thought that perhaps she might come to love him, in spite of that faint indefinable flavor of absurdity that pervaded his courtly bearing. Can it ever be so good again?” Ann Veronica put out a firm hand and squeezed his arm. Now Owen Wood had one fair child, Unlike her mother, meek and mild; Her love the draper strove to gain, But she repaid him with disdain.
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