She looked up and said, a little breathlessly, “I’m sorry, aunt, but I don’t think I can. Remember, in your story—look at it, scattered everywhere!—that line? We arrive at true happiness only through labyrinths of misery. F. And yet for all that— It got into Ann Veronica’s nights at last and kept her awake, the perplexing contrast between the advanced thought and the advanced thinker. Besides this, the door was crossed and recrossed by iron bars, clenched by broad-headed nails. "One whom you may perhaps have forgotten," replied the stranger, "but who can never forget the kindness he experienced at your hands, or at those of your excellent husband.
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