“It is true. Sir John waved her back. Now, it was a wilderness of weeds. She was very excited. It is not, my dear Veronica, that I think there is any harm in you; there is not. Loneliness—something that was almost physical: as if the vitality had been taken out of the air she breathed. But I am sick of tearing up letters and hopeless of getting what I have to say better said. She often found herself absorbed by watching the tall grass undulate from the cave’s central doorway as solitary hunters prowled for buffalo and stag on the plain.
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