‘Well, what was I to think, miss? Martha never wrote nothing about you, and I did ask. “But, my dear!” said Ann Veronica’s aunt. “Oh, that. I thought you understood. The brain tires of resistance, and when it meets again and again, incoherently active, the same phrases, the same ideas that it has already slain, exposed and dissected and buried, it becomes less and less energetic to repeat the operation. She will take me in until I can make some plans.
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