Book. Even on cool days the gardens were colorful and bright, with orange trees emanating sweetness and bumblebees drunkenly weaving from flower to flower. That is how I learned that there were such things as novels. He noted that she was fully dressed, that her hair was carefully done, that there was a knotted ribbon around her throat. Clean water. As though it was indelicate—it’s just a sort of shyness. He could think about it later. A piece of old blanket was fastened across her shoulders, and she had no other clothing except a petticoat. “If my own mother was alive,” sobbed Ann Veronica, “she would understand.
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