A little table covered with a damask cloth was dragged out. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. “Oh, Veronica!” she said, “to leave your home!” She had been weeping. I am always reinventing myself with new styles. “No, she just worries that I’ll go Satanic and start chomping the heads off of bats and mice or something. It melted her heart.
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