It had been Ann Veronica’s lot as the youngest child to live in a home that became less animated and various as she grew up. I suppose if one were to love some one, one would feel doubtful. ‘Jacques?’ she called out, forgetting the need for silence. He had often read about it, and once he had incorporated it in a story, that invisible force which sent men to prison and to the gallows, when a tongue controlled would have meant liberty indefinite. Then she raised the glass nearer to her lips. Watching her strip had been delicious for him, and a part of him enjoyed her self-consciousness acutely.
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