She came to her one day and pulled on her apron. Ann Veronica found herself in a little stirring crowd of excited women, whispering and tittering and speaking in undertones. Under his arm he carried a thick, knotted crab-stick. "Is it indeed you, or am I dreaming?" "You're not dreaming, mother," he answered. The place was gloomy, with its darkly panelled walls, but it was sparsely furnished.
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