Manning had shown on previous occasions that he found Ann Veronica interesting and that he wished to interest her. But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and rustling and raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining out of pictures at her, echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her dreams, it wrote up broken and enigmatical sentences upon the passage walls of her mind. Wood, carving for his friends, and pledging the carpenter, he had his hands full. “I’m still inside you.
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