“I shall never marry,” said Ann Veronica, resolutely; “I’m not the sort. Was that it? Had she clothed this unhappy young man with glamour? Or was it because he was so alone? She could not get through the husks to the kernel of what really actuated her. " "Why not?" "I am a thief, a hunted man. He displayed none of the airy optimism of their previous talk over the downland gate. Spurling bit her lips to conceal her mirth. ‘Melusine, if you don’t let go my hand—’ He broke off as she dragged a pocket handkerchief from her sleeve. She flung herself back into the bare little room, cold, empty, comfortless.
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