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ANN VERONICA TALKS TO HER FATHER-1-2
ANN VERONICA TALKS TO HER FATHER-3-4
ANN VERONICA TALKS TO HER FATHER-5-6
ANN VERONICA TALKS TO HER FATHER-7
ANN VERONICA GATHERS POINTS OF VIEW-1-2
ANN VERONICA GATHERS POINTS OF VIEW-3
THE MORNING OF THE CRISIS-1-2
THE MORNING OF THE CRISIS-3-4-5
THE MORNING OF THE CRISIS-6-7
THE CRISIS-1-2-3-4
THE FLIGHT TO LONDON-1-2-3
THE FLIGHT TO LONDON-4-5-6
EXPOSTULATIONS-1-2-3-4
EXPOSTULATIONS-5-6
IDEALS AND A REALITY-1-2
IDEALS AND A REALITY-3-4
IDEALS AND A REALITY-5-6-7
BIOLOGY-1-2
BIOLOGY-3-4-5-6
BIOLOGY-7-8-9
DISCORDS-1
DISCORDS-2-3-4
DISCORDS-5-6-8-9
THE SUFFRAGETTES-1-2-3
THE SUFFRAGETTES-4-5
THOUGHTS IN PRISON-1-2-3-4-5-6
ANN VERONICA PUTS THINGS IN ORDER-1-2-3-4-5-6-7
THE SAPPHIRE RING-1-2-3-4
THE SAPPHIRE RING-5-6
THE COLLAPSE OF THE PENITENT-1-2-3
THE COLLAPSE OF THE PENITENT-4-5-6
THE LAST DAYS AT HOME-1-2-3
IN THE MOUNTAINS-1-2-3-4
IN THE MOUNTAINS-5-6-7-8-9-10-11
IN PERSPECTIVE-1-2-3

were, with wings of desire. The fact that it was her trusted friend 

making illicit love to her remained, in spite of all her effort, an 

insignificant thing in her mind. The music confused and distracted her, 

and made her struggle against a feeling of intoxication. Her head swam. 

That was the inconvenience of it; her head was swimming. The music 

throbbed into the warnings that preceded the king's irruption. 

 

Abruptly he gripped her wrist. "I love you, Ann Veronica. I love 

you--with all my heart and soul." 

 

She put her face closer to his. She felt the warm nearness of his. 

"DON'T!" she said, and wrenched her wrist from his retaining hand. 

 

"My God! Ann Veronica," he said, struggling to keep his hold upon her; 

"my God! Tell me--tell me now--tell me you love me!" 

 

His expression was as it were rapaciously furtive. She answered in 

whispers, for there was the white arm of a woman in the next box peeping 

beyond the partition within a yard of him. 

 

"My hand! This isn't the place." 

 

He released her hand and talked in eager undertones against an auditory 

background of urgency and distress. 

 

"Ann Veronica," he said, "I tell you this is love. I love the soles of 

your feet. I love your very breath. I have tried not to tell you--tried 

to be simply your friend. It is no good. I want you. I worship you. I 

would do anything--I would give anything to make you mine.... Do you 

hear me? Do you hear what I am saying?... Love!" 

 

He held her arm and abandoned it again at her quick defensive movement. 

For a long time neither spoke again. 

 

She sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss 

what to say or do--afraid, curious, perplexed. It seemed to her that 

it was her duty to get up and clamor to go home to her room, to protest 

against his advances as an insult. But she did not in the least want 

to do that. These sweeping dignities were not within the compass of her 

will; she remembered she liked Ramage, and owed things to him, and she 

was interested--she was profoundly interested. He was in love with 

her! She tried to grasp all the welter of values in the situation 

simultaneously, and draw some conclusion from their disorder. 

 

He began to talk again in quick undertones that she could not clearly 

hear. 

 

"I have loved you," he was saying, "ever since you sat on that gate and 

talked. I have always loved you. I don't care what divides us. I don't 

care what else there is in the world. I want you beyond measure or 


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