Of the vast mass of these impressions Ann Veronica could make nothing at the time; there they were—Fact! She stored them away in a mind naturally retentive, as a squirrel stores away nuts, for further digestion. But I mustn't think of these things, or I shall grow mad. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. She contrived to break down the barriers of shyness at last in one direction, and talked one night of love and the facts of love with Miss Miniver.
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