We came on here at once. Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. Of course, it was ridiculous, this inclination to assist the fugitive, based as it was upon an intangible university idea. I don’t think I’ve got illusions, nor you. In a little while—to-morrow—all these tender, beautiful emotions will pass away, and I'll become what I was yesterday, a cynical, miserly old spinster.
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