That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise. " "Thank God for that!" cried Wood, heartily. “And now,” said Ann Veronica surveying her apartment with an unprecedented sense of proprietorship, “what is the next step?” She spent the evening in writing—it was a little difficult—to her father and— which was easier—to the Widgetts. She drew in a deep breath of the sweet mountain air. "I am twenty," said the girl. “Isn’t there a brother to kick him?” “Mere satisfaction,” reflected Ogilvy.
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