“There’s morbid beauty,” said Ann Veronica. It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at Morningside Park. On the mantelpiece in front of her was a note addressed to her in Annabel’s handwriting. The place, in which they stood, was a small entrance-chamber, cut off, like the segment of a circle, from the main apartment, (of which it is needless to say it originally constituted a portion,) by a stout wooden partition. Preparations were next made for taking Thames on board. It wasn’t so much women as Woman that engaged his mind. I'll engage to get the job done by six.
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