“Nothing,” said Ann Veronica, and stared over her shoulder out of the window. Besides ——” She stopped short. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. She had time in the afternoons to do crewelwork and embroidery, no longer occupied by the constant spinning of wool. ” It did begin to fall into place together. If only this child were his: what good times they would have together! The thought passed on, but it left a little ache in his heart.
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