Ann Veronica brought her luggage in a cab from the hotel; she tipped the hotel porter sixpence and overpaid the cabman eighteenpence, unpacked some of her books and possessions, and so made the room a little homelike, and then sat down in a by no means uncomfortable arm-chair before the fire. “Anna,” she cried, “you must believe me. “It’s the warming up of the year, the coming of the light mornings, the way in which everything begins to run about and begin new things.
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