I seed he was one,—and a sharp un, too,—at a glance. 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. It’s a lake among precipices, and there is a little inn where we can stay, and sit and eat our dinner at a pleasant table that looks upon the lake. And here he was, but a hundred yards away, this wastrel who trailed his genius through the mud. There was a pint of champagne and a quart of mineral water (both taboo) at his elbow. And you see, I don’t turn my back, and I am looking at you and thinking about you from top to toe. Such was the condition of his mind that the danger exhilarated rather than depressed him. Ann Veronica looked up at him and found him regarding her with eyes that were almost woebegone, and into which, indeed, he was trying to throw much more expression than they could carry. And all the old—the old trick of shrinking up like a snail at a touch.
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