It was one of the secret troubles of her mind, this grotesque twist her ideas would sometimes take, as though they rebelled and rioted. This is not what I want. Think better of it. “Let us walk across the Park at least,” he said to Ann Veronica. Wood's boat, impelled alike by oar and tide, shot past the mark at which it aimed; and before it could be again brought about, the struggle had terminated. Nothing could occupy her attention long today, unless it concerned her situation. But I'll not believe it of you.
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