“It is you alone, Nigel, who have saved me from being an old maid. Somebody tricked you back yonder—baited you for spite. In that case I'll help you. He’ll do. But her heart kept on sinking. She had no intention of fighting fair. Robbed of their prey, the fury of the mob became ungovernable. ‘Because I love you. Certainly I would not murder monsieur le major, even that he has made a threat to beat me. She HAD cried, Ann Veronica knew. Far away there was the one woman for this boy of mine—some human being who would understand the dear fool better than all the rest of the world. He was a civil servant of some standing, and after a previous conversation upon aesthetics of a sententious, nebulous, and sympathetic character, he had sent her a small volume, which he described as the fruits of his leisure and which was as a matter of fact rather carefully finished verse. There was a huge desk of heavily carved ebony at one end, and at the centre, a couple of straight-backed chairs stood before a great fireplace at the outer wall, flanked by two bookshelves with casement windows above.
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