“For I know that you love Ennison. “Think how dumb we find ourselves and stifled! I know we seem to have a sort of freedom. ‘I am far from imagining anything of the kind. He used a most awful word! Then he said, ‘It’s Ann Veronica gone to join her sister!’ ‘Gone!’ I said. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory. Any man might have endeavoured to protect himself in this fashion, a man with no one to care, with an unnameable terror at the thought (as if it mattered!) of being buried in alien earth, far from the familiar places he loved. “Am I dull?” she said. Happy Thanksgiving. “Very well,” said her father. The joy of being loved thrilled her as nothing before had ever done, a curious abstract joy which had nothing in it at that moment of regret or even pity. "Then you need no further information from me," rejoined Jackson, sternly.
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