It was wonderful to think this thing had lived, had felt and suffered. Part 2 In the late afternoon, as Ann Veronica was gathering flowers for the dinnertable, her father came strolling across the lawn toward her with an affectation of great deliberation. “She’s my wife,” the man muttered. I do not love any one. She made a few protests, a few excuses for her action in accepting him, a few lame explanations, but he did not heed them or care for them.
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