Her head dangled unnaturally for an instant, unleashed from its moorings, then sank to join her husband’s on the floor. Epithalamy might do. No more. Love—admiration for your matchless beauty alone sways me. Ann Veronica snatched at the opportunity, and spent most of the intervening time in the Assyrian Court of the British Museum, reading and thinking over a little book upon the feminist movement the tired woman had made her buy. She began to exercise those lures which were bred in her bone—the bones of all women.
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