She put back her hood in a determined way. She exhorted Ann Veronica not to become one of “those unsexed intellectuals, neither man nor woman. I want to do something. You will never be happy with this hanging over you. . The lunches were individual affairs: sandwiches, bottled olives and jam commandeered from the Victoria. Miss Stanley had determined from the outset to have the warmest affection for her youngest niece and to be a second mother in her life—a second and a better one; but she had found much to battle with, and there was much in herself that Ann Veronica failed to understand. If there is, it’s a mere wrapping—there’s better underneath.
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