“I think everything’s right,” said Ann Veronica, with the roaming eye of a capable but not devoted house-mistress. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. “There is someone in my rooms,” Anna said. " She showed him the locket; and he studied the face. "So that was it? And what the devil are you doing here, moping alone on the beach? Why aren't you with her in this hour of bitterness?" "What can I do?" "You can go to her and take her in your arms. ‘Very well, never mind. "Your enemy!" she returned imperfectly comprehending him. ’ ‘A pox on the creature,’ swore Mrs Sindlesham, clenching and unclenching her stiff fingers.
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