She thought of all sorts of odd and desperate expedients, and with passionate petulance rejected them all. Ann Veronica had a number of fragmentary impressions of Alice strangely transfigured in bridal raiment. I somehow understood. “Don’t you think I ought to?” she asked, very submissively. “Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. That dress she has on—my mother might have worn it.
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