"Is it indeed you, or am I dreaming?" "You're not dreaming, mother," he answered. I was just like a sort of dummy that does things as it is told—that is to say, as the strings are pulled. Her mother did not seem to like the new doctor at all, shunning him with a near superstitious dread. And yet it was basically a fine action. A bowl of roses, just brought by Ann Veronica, adorned the communal dressing-table, and Ann Veronica was particularly trim in preparation for a call she was to make with her aunt later in the afternoon.
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