” “Your priestess,” whispered Ann Veronica, softly. It was the same smell that she had in his memory, but now it was definite, palpable, like a perfume. Ann Veronica hesitated with a question that had leaped up in her mind, and that she felt was cruel. When the disillusion comes, when the fairy story ends, if she is blessed with children, she doesn't mind. Here I am.
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