The library was on the ground floor, Melusine recalled from the previous visit, for she had searched through a desk in a room filled with bookshelves of leatherbound volumes. “I’d rather go as a chorus-girl,” she said. But here’s what is different this time. The supreme effect for Ann Veronica was its surpassing relevance; it made every other atmosphere she knew seem discursive and confused. “Why shouldn’t one face the facts of one’s self?” She stood up.
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