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She saw herself building up a life upon that —a life restrained, kindly, beautiful, a little pathetic and altogether dignified; a life of great disciplines and suppressions and extensive reserves. “But, dear, think! He is your father. ” “Do you think of these things—these matters—as belonging to our Higher Nature or our Lower?” “I don’t deal in Higher Things, I tell you,” said Ann Veronica, “or Lower, for the matter of that. He had seldom been more perturbed. Oh, I’ve loved love, dear! I’ve loved love and you, and the glory of you; and the great time is over, and I have to go carefully and bear children, and—take care of my hair—and when I am done with that I shall be an old woman. She battled with a deadly faintness, and she tottered rather than walked back to her seat.
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