” “No,” said Ann Veronica, offhandedly. The wine was sweetened with cinnamon and cloves and rare edible flowers, which her father had instructed her not to drink excessively of. His salvation—if there was to be any—lay in her ignorance of life. “Oh, dammit!” he remarked, “dammit!” with great bitterness as he faced it. So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity.
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