At the sound of the door Ann Veronica uncovered a tearless face, and with one swift movement assumed a conversational attitude. She required no instructions from books; her wit and beauty were her own. She would not let her move. And from that point they went on to a thoroughly embittering wrangle. She could hear him from the lower floor as he locked the gates and drew up the wooden part of the bridge. I, too, want to understand—to walk with my head in the light.
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