Such names shone brightly in the darkness, with black spaces of unilluminated emptiness about them, as stars shine in the night; but now—now it was different; now it was dawn—the real dawn. This formality irked her: she wanted to play a little, romp. “I’ve got—I have to tell you this to make myself clear—a streak of ardent animal in my composition. Manning’s feelings, and as Ann Veronica’s mind was still largely engaged with fundamentals and found no pleasure in metrical forms, she had not as yet cut its pages.
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