Wood, regarding her husband with a glance of vindictive triumph. Ann Veronica was lying on her bed in a darkling room staring at the ceiling. ‘You will like to marry me, yes?’ she pursued. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations. ’ She spread her hands. Why ain’t you gorn? Seems to me I had ought to arrest you.
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