Again the chalky pallor spread even to her lips, her eyes became lit with the old terror. But it is my fault. Don’t say anything, she thought to herself, say nothing more, Martin. Vorsack echoed him. “Veronique!” she cried with a rising intonation, though never before had she called Ann Veronica anything but Miss Stanley, and seized her and squeezed her and kissed her with profound emotion. Then blackness. . "Auntie?" he cried. He heard the woman talking again.
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