’ A gleam of rare humour slid into Charvill’s chest. After all, what did it matter?—it or anything else in the world? She was within reach of his arms, beautiful, compelling, herself as it seemed suddenly conscious of the light which was burning in his eyes. There were cakes and sandwiches—for Ennison a sort of Elysian feast, long to be remembered. “You had no right—” panted Ann Veronica. I dare say anything seemed better to her than the nun’s habit she had been obliged to use.
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