She cut a deep gash into her own arm with a steel screw, loosing drops of her own blood onto the floorboards. And besides—We’re going to live, Ann Veronica! Oh, the things we’ll do, the life we’ll lead! There’ll be trouble in it at times—you and I aren’t going to run without friction. She was like an angel with one wing. "But she is a dear," said Angelina, timidly.
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