Ennison had disappeared. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. ". Ann Veronica surveyed his sloping back for a moment, and then drew her microscope toward her. It reminded her viscerally of her subhuman status, stripped away of the pretenses of art, intellect, and nicety.
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