I made a wrong choice, it seems—but my voice remains. “This is MY thing,” said Ann Veronica, softly, with thoughtful eyes upon him. "Perhaps. I want to make my own selection. ” Miss Stanley rose and regarded Ann Veronica fixedly. Their expression was so amiable, that it would have redeemed a countenance a thousand times plainer than hers. Only old librarians and Shirley Temples say that. Beyond was an avenue of tall poplars that rose like columns, disappearing into undulating hills that were black with sleeping houses and fertile soil. ” Ann Veronica made no answer.
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