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ANN VERONICA TALKS TO HER FATHER-1-2
ANN VERONICA TALKS TO HER FATHER-3-4
ANN VERONICA TALKS TO HER FATHER-5-6
ANN VERONICA TALKS TO HER FATHER-7
ANN VERONICA GATHERS POINTS OF VIEW-1-2
ANN VERONICA GATHERS POINTS OF VIEW-3
THE MORNING OF THE CRISIS-1-2
THE MORNING OF THE CRISIS-3-4-5
THE MORNING OF THE CRISIS-6-7
THE CRISIS-1-2-3-4
THE FLIGHT TO LONDON-1-2-3
THE FLIGHT TO LONDON-4-5-6
EXPOSTULATIONS-1-2-3-4
EXPOSTULATIONS-5-6
IDEALS AND A REALITY-1-2
IDEALS AND A REALITY-3-4
IDEALS AND A REALITY-5-6-7
BIOLOGY-1-2
BIOLOGY-3-4-5-6
BIOLOGY-7-8-9
DISCORDS-1
DISCORDS-2-3-4
DISCORDS-5-6-8-9
THE SUFFRAGETTES-1-2-3
THE SUFFRAGETTES-4-5
THOUGHTS IN PRISON-1-2-3-4-5-6
ANN VERONICA PUTS THINGS IN ORDER-1-2-3-4-5-6-7
THE SAPPHIRE RING-1-2-3-4
THE SAPPHIRE RING-5-6
THE COLLAPSE OF THE PENITENT-1-2-3
THE COLLAPSE OF THE PENITENT-4-5-6
THE LAST DAYS AT HOME-1-2-3
IN THE MOUNTAINS-1-2-3-4
IN THE MOUNTAINS-5-6-7-8-9-10-11
IN PERSPECTIVE-1-2-3

your feet." 

 

He beamed upon her. 

 

"I don't think you realize," Ann Veronica began again, "that I am rather 

a defective human being." 

 

"I don't want to," said Manning. "They say there are spots on the sun. 

Not for me. It warms me, and lights me, and fills my world with flowers. 

Why should I peep at it through smoked glass to see things that don't 

affect me?" He smiled his delight at his companion. 

 

"I've got bad faults." 

 

He shook his head slowly, smiling mysteriously. 

 

"But perhaps I want to confess them." 

 

"I grant you absolution." 

 

"I don't want absolution. I want to make myself visible to you." 

 

"I wish I could make you visible to yourself. I don't believe in the 

faults. They're just a joyous softening of the outline--more beautiful 

than perfection. Like the flaws of an old marble. If you talk of your 

faults, I shall talk of your splendors." 

 

"I do want to tell you things, nevertheless." 

 

"We'll have, thank God! ten myriad days to tell each other things. When 

I think of it--" 

 

"But these are things I want to tell you now!" 

 

"I made a little song of it. Let me say it to you. I've no name for it 

yet. Epithalamy might do. 

 

"Like him who stood on Darien 

I view uncharted sea 

Ten thousand days, ten thousand nights 

Before my Queen and me. 

 

"And that only brings me up to about sixty-five! 

 

"A glittering wilderness of time 

That to the sunset reaches 

No keel as yet its waves has ploughed 

Or gritted on its beaches. 

 

"And we will sail that splendor wide, 

From day to day together, 

From isle to isle of happiness 

Through year's of God's own weather." 

 

"Yes," said his prospective fellow-sailor, "that's very pretty." She 

stopped short, full of things un-said. Pretty! Ten thousand days, ten 

thousand nights! 

 

"You shall tell me your faults," said Manning. "If they matter to you, 

they matter." 

 

"It isn't precisely faults," said Ann Veronica. "It's something that 

bothers me." Ten thousand! Put that way it seemed so different. 

 

"Then assuredly!" said Manning. 

 

She found a little difficulty in beginning. She was glad when he went 

on: "I want to be your city of refuge from every sort of bother. I want 

to stand between you and all the force and vileness of the world. I want 

to make you feel that here is a place where the crowd does not clamor 

nor ill-winds blow." 

 

"That is all very well," said Ann Veronica, unheeded. 


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