He could scarcely blame her. “Ruin me? Think of me with fondness? Are you dying of cancer or something?” He demanded. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. ” “I thought I explained—” “Come home!” Ann Veronica shrugged her shoulders. And yet she knew it was not fair to call her a foolish girl.
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