The curtain came festooning slowly down, the music ceased, the lights in the auditorium glowed out, and Ann Veronica woke out of her confused dream of involuntary and commanding love in a glory of sound and colors to discover that Ramage was sitting close beside her with one hand resting lightly on her waist. Her place was not filled; she had been simply noted as absent, and she did a comforting day of admirable dissection upon the tortoise. ‘Certainly I am not a nun. Let him not bear the weight of my punishment. Death belongs to God, young man.
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