The open books she knew by heart; aye, they had been ground into her, morning and night. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. “You can count upon me, Nigel,” she said. Like the nuns, she hardly ever looked in a mirror. ” Ann Veronica looked at the mildly pensive gray eyes and the comfortable, rather refined face with a penetrating curiosity. It reminded her of one of the old tales her mother Marina had told her about a sculptor named Farhat. "It is easy to make an assertion like this," said Thames, contemptuously. She must learn wisdom—as God pleases.
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