“Would YOU like us—if some one told you the bare outline of our story?— and what we are doing?” “I shouldn’t mind,” said Ann Veronica. A slow anger burned in the man. The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. It was dry, as if she had powdered it. His energy began to slip away and she sank her teeth into his fat carotid artery below the piano wire, which had drawn blood from his neck. He looked about for his hat, and put it on.
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