Little Anna screamed and thrashed as she was torn from Lucy’s skirts. He waved a cordial goodbye. He delayed the blow till the fortunate conjuncture was past. None of the things they said and did were altogether new to Ann Veronica, but now she got them massed and alive, instead of by glimpses or in books—alive and articulate and insistent. She hoped that he would at long last remember his young male pride. Sometimes it seemed to him that he was an impostor: that Ruth believed him to be one Howard Spurlock, when he was only masquerading as Spurlock.
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