The flat was apparently empty. The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used. ‘And it is not only a question of her identity, but a matter of her life as well. She fought him with tooth and nail. Gods! what it must be to pour out strong, splendid verse—mighty lines! mighty lines! If I do, Ann Veronica, it will be you. It’s not fair to you. Warm reality was now so near her she could hear it beating in her ears.
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