“Gods!” cried Ann Veronica, and kept him standing. Spurlock, filled with self-mockery, sat in a chair on the west veranda. ‘In love? I? Don’t be ridiculous. He pressed his lips to her with a much greater force than she had anticipated. God, we suck. His eyes on Melusine, he uncocked the pistol, and then reached out to the portrait, grasping it by one edge. At the sight of her he became rigid and a singularly bright shade of pink.
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