” With a little crash the pistol fell from her shaking fingers. “He fell over at my feet,” she continued. A wild passion of shame and self-disgust swept over her. She was not a reversion to type, which intimates the primordial; she suggested rather the incarnation of some goddess of the South Seas. She felt that Ann Veronica had duped her in that dream, and now that she had come up to London she might as well speak her mind. But I do not need that Gérard attend.
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