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. "No, no," rejoined Thames; "fly—or I will not answer for your safety. Jonathan smiled contemptuously. She found no ready reply to that, and he went on: “This music is the food of love. Least of all myself.
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