Part 7 Then one day a little thing happened that clothed itself in significance. Not at all. He had brought the shrubs down from Syria, and, strangely enough, they had prospered. “You were really at Moulton House,” she exclaimed penitently. The supreme effect for Ann Veronica was its surpassing relevance; it made every other atmosphere she knew seem discursive and confused. She could run away from him, if she wished, as she had run away from her father; she could carry out the original adventure. She had slept badly at first in a long chair next to the fire waiting for him to return, but caught on after that.
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