He did not pocket it, but sat hefting it lightly from hand to hand, watching the girl thoughtfully. Mr. Panic leapt into his eyes as he brought his wrist up just in time to parry the blade. Her name, he said, was as pretty as its wearer. She felt terribly modern, even sporty as the magazines declared you should be. It had a tiny flaw, most bizarre. 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. 1. The action steadied him; and there was a phase of irony, too, that helped. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjE4OC45OS4xODUgLSAwMS0wNy0yMDI0IDA3OjM2OjEzIC0gMTE1MDQzMjU4
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