“I don’t know,” said Ann Veronica; “I think I am. It is easy enough to sing these little chansons in an original way—it requires a very different sort of ability to succeed on the stage. Where can we sit down and talk?” He led her across the room towards a window recess, in which a tall, fair young man was seated with an evening paper in his hand. She had arranged for a supper of tea, a boiled egg, and some tinned peaches. Ann Veronica realized that she was alone with the world. There used to be an after deckhouse and a shallow well for the wheel; but I changed that. And I have wanted to so very much.
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