But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. Then for the first time she was conscious of an unaccountable and terrifying sensation. “I’m six hundred and forty-eight, John, but guess how old I look? Fifteen. ” For a time she sat on a rail before leaving the road for the downland turf. "He is dying?" whispered Ruth. “No,” said Ann Veronica, “but I want to know.
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