. Neither father, aunt, nor brothers made a sign, and then one afternoon in early February her aunt came up in a state between expostulation and dignified resentment, but obviously very anxious for Ann Veronica’s welfare. Have you anything to ask me?” Ann Veronica readjusted her mind hastily. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. Gerald glanced down and saw her dash at a spread of blood on his own hand, only now realising that her dagger had found its mark.
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