Drink this!” He poured out a glass of wine with a firm hand, and held it to her lips. All through the love music of the second act, until the hunting horns of Mark break in upon the dream, Ann Veronica’s consciousness was flooded with the perception of a man close beside her, preparing some new thing to say to her, preparing, perhaps, to touch her, stretching hungry invisible tentacles about her. “I am sorry for the way I acted, Lucy. You are an artist by the Divine right of birth, but whatever form of expression may come to you at some time it will not be painting.
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