“I’m ready,” said Ann Veronica, closing her microscope-box with a click, and looking for one brief instant up the laboratory. He smiled grandly; she could feel the radiance of his approval from across the wedding table. You are my slave—and such you shall continue. The mother was far more real to her than the father; the ghostly far more substantial than the living form. So that the thought of Ann Veronica up-stairs had been extremely painful for her through all the silent dinner-time that night.
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