" "On no account," rejoined Wood peremptorily. Only your horror of a grandfather insisted on coming with me, so I had to wait for him to be ready and travel at his pace. That'll tune me up. He went to the door. She went into premature labor. There, after protestations of friendliness and helpfulness that were almost ardent, he mounted a little clumsily and rode off at an amiable pace, looking his best, making a leg with his riding gaiters, smiling and saluting, while Ann Veronica turned northward and so came to Micklechesil. The life of a girl presented itself to her as something happy and heedless and unthinking, yet really guided and controlled by others, and going on amidst unsuspected screens and concealments.
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