It would have been a crisis anyhow, but it was complicated in Ann Veronica’s mind by the fact that a letter lay on the breakfast-table from Mr. Imagine her, putting herself to all this delay and inconvenience for a young wastrel she did not know and who, the moment he got on his feet, would doubtless pass out of her life without so much as Thank you! And it was ten to one that she would not comprehend the ingratitude. “Tut, tut!” he said. . “The Holy Ghost! The Pope! My mother!” She squealed. ‘At me,’ she uttered, holding her own pistol high and aiming it steadily. She’d have thrown this thing if you hadn’t stopped her. “I—I didn’t love the man I was engaged to,” she said. A maidservant held the front door open.
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