One day she awoke and he was cavorting about underneath the covers. “If you really are going to wait, make yourself as comfortable as you can. And tell Pottiswick to mend that lock we broke. For a pity, she has chosen to remain, and it has been her death. “Oh God!” she cried, “Oh God!” and flung aside her opera-cloak, and for a time walked about the room—a Corsair’s bride at a crisis of emotion. “I don’t care,” said Ann Veronica to the darkness; “I’ll fight it.
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