For a time Ann Veronica’s attention was diverted by her aunt’s interest in the salted almonds. She was writhing to get her hands loose and found herself gasping with passionate violence, “It’s damnable!—damnable!” to the manifest disgust of the fatherly policeman on her right. Spurling. Something he saw there made him feel for a moment ashamed. Hitherto it had been qualified by her conception of all life as a compromise, by her new effort to be unexacting of life.
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