” For some creditable moments in her life Ann Veronica was utterly disgusted with herself; she was wrung with a passionate and belated desire to move gently, to speak softly and ambiguously—to be, in effect, prim. Generations had been born and died in between the times she had gotten laid. His patient was distinctly of a different order of life. Ramage’s bitterness passed as abruptly as his aggression. It was Annabel’s. Whenever Jack attempted to speak, he was checked by an angry growl from Abraham; and Thames, though his heart was full almost to bursting, felt no inclination to break the silence. Later that night, after she had cleaned herself and changed her clothes, he returned. One’s got to be a better man than one’s father, or what is the good of successive generations? Life is rebellion, or nothing. You don’t want to miss the sport. "You can't go to sea with a book of rules. “Don’t!” she begged. Yet her aunt, with a ringed hand flitting to her lips and a puzzled, worried look in her eyes, deaf to all this riot of warmth and flitting desire, was playing Patience—playing Patience, as if Dionysius and her curate had died together.
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