“And to-night we are friends?” “We are friends,” said Ann Veronica, and drew her hand quickly away from him. On reaching the churchyard, he perceived the melancholy procession descending the hill. It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade.
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