” Ann Veronica listened with her eyes on the fire. "Who took it thence?" "Thames Darrell; the boy at your side. . ’ ‘As if you could stop her. The cultivated indifference, which was part of the armour of his little world fell away from him. She was posing before the mirror, critically, miserably, defensively, and perhaps bewilderedly. She became as The Tigress, a free thing. The truth was impossible, indecent. He put his arms around her in a circular embrace. ” “Any place would be beautiful,” said Ann Veronica, in a low voice. He was always word-building, a metaphorist, lavish with singing adjectives; but often he built in confusion because it was difficult to describe something beautiful in a new yet simple way. Indignation carried her through that night, that men and the world could so entreat her.
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