She felt sleepy and unusually irritable. ‘You kissed me that you might make me find it for you instead?’ ‘I had no such intention. I loathe this room. Neither father, aunt, nor brothers made a sign, and then one afternoon in early February her aunt came up in a state between expostulation and dignified resentment, but obviously very anxious for Ann Veronica’s welfare. They heard his footsteps descending the stone staircase, growing fainter and fainter. She saw herself building up a life upon that —a life restrained, kindly, beautiful, a little pathetic and altogether dignified; a life of great disciplines and suppressions and extensive reserves.
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