"My enemy," replied her son. He looked just like John Wayne in a cowboy movie, his eyes narrow and squinting, except his hair was long, unruly, and jet black. For a time she brooded on the ideals and suggestions of the Socialists, on the vague intimations of an Endowment of Motherhood, of a complete relaxation of that intense individual dependence for women which is woven into the existing social order. “It is possible, mademoiselle,” he said, “that this affair is not yet ended. Ann Veronica was lying on her bed in a darkling room staring at the ceiling. “I’d run away with you in a heartbeat. You see, we guys bump up against so much of the seamy side that we look upon everybody as guilty until proved innocent, which is hind-side-to. I want to ask you a plain question, and you must answer me faithfully. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative.
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