Her natural instincts reasserted themselves. “Well,” she said, “good-night, father. Horrible doubts assailed her. For in life there is but one hour: an epic or an idyll: all other hours lead up to and down from it. “Not for these things, O Ann Veronica, have you revolted,” it said; “and this is not your appropriate purpose. “Dinner is served, m’m,” said the efficient parlor-maid in the archway, and the worst was over.
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