It is not, my dear Veronica, that I think there is any harm in you; there is not. On that first occasion, the delay in locating the entrance to the secret passage meant that she had to wait until morning to make her search. “It is an annoyance, my friend,” she said, “not a tragedy. But those days are over—quite over. Her mother was a goddess to her all through her youth, the mysterious ruler of all things beautiful and wonderful and lunar, her eyes that glinted spectral blue, as if she had the knowledge and the magic to raise the very dead.
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