And now she was discovering that even Nature was something of a liar, with her mirages and her horizons. There were two. As she approached the corner of the Avenue the blond, no-hatted man in gray flannels appeared. She reminded him sometimes of the one holy and ineffable Madonna, at others of Berode, the great courtezan of her day, who had sent kings away from her doors, and had just announced her intention of ending her life in a convent. “That’s exhilarating,” said Ann Veronica.
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