“Why on earth,” he asked, “did you hurt me like that?” Ann Veronica did her best to think she had not deliberately attempted to cause him pain. It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. Like a thorough-bred racer, he would sustain twice as much fatigue as a person of heavier mould. He loved Ann Veronica, he said; he was so mad to have her that he defeated himself, and did crude and alarming and senseless things. “You’re.
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