Ann Veronica had had some training at the Tredgold College in disentangling threads from confused statements, and she had a curious persuasion that in all this fluent muddle there was something—something real, something that signified. She went to the table under the end window at which she had been accustomed to work, and found it swept and garnished with full bottles of re-agents. didn’t have to. S. . . She caught at the idea. "At length I am my own master," murmured the knight, as his foot touched the strand.
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