Under the plumed hat, her eye kindled. “I think,” began Ann Veronica, “that you don’t realize—” He disregarded her entirely. It was horrible, but what could she do? She meant to live her own life, and he meant, with contempt and insults, to prevent her. “The unaccountable thing is that I wouldn’t go home to please her. “I lied, as I would have committed a murder, or done any evil deed sooner than lose you. But underneath this tolerance there is always the vague hope that your manhood will someday reassert itself. She opened this and scrambled out—a thing she had not done for five long years of adolescence— upon the leaded space above the built-out bath-room on the first floor. He was no Hoddy, but a tremendous man, with hairy arms and bearded face and drink-shattered intellect. Profligate women are never reclaimed. An ugly flush stained his cheeks.
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