Then, I thought, she has repented, all will be well. Yet she could not bring herself to hate the girl, or even Gianfrancesco, the one who would have sent her to her death more than once. Ann Veronica brought her luggage in a cab from the hotel; she tipped the hotel porter sixpence and overpaid the cabman eighteenpence, unpacked some of her books and possessions, and so made the room a little homelike, and then sat down in a by no means uncomfortable arm-chair before the fire. She hated to leave; for this hour would be the most interesting. The world isn't real yet; she hasn't comparisons by which to govern her acts.
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