"What is it?" demanded the woollen-draper, as he returned to the table, and took up a glass. A shudder rippled across his shoulders. For a time Ann Veronica’s attention was diverted by her aunt’s interest in the salted almonds. But from the first her rather old-fashioned conception of life had jarred with the suburban atmosphere, the High School spirit and the memories of the light and little Mrs. The walls rocked, the footrail of the bed wavered, and the girl's head had the nebulosity of a composite photograph. ‘Here we go again. She used to play violin, you know. . That, I think, is manifest.
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